


Broken Wings

by Todesengel



Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-24
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 124,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about gods and demons. About war. About anger. About slavery. This is a story of rebellion and death, of blood and pain and struggle and freedom. This is a story about flying and falling, about loss and betrayal. Oh, and this is a story about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Normally, I wouldn't do this sort of thing because I dislike it when authors preface their work and yet, here I go. In general, I would like to say I'm proud of this story. I wrote it back in 2000 (right smack dab in the middle of my wangsty teenage girl phase), long before I truly honed any storytelling skills I possessed and, at the time, honestly, saw nothing wrong with the dripping heaps of melodrama that adorn this story. Looking back on it now, I see so many things that I would like to (and probably, hopefully, will) change at some point. That being said, I've been repeatedly assured that it is, in fact, a good story. So, with no more ado from me (except, perhaps, a gentle request for comments and feedback) I give you Broken Wings. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> As a final note (for real, this time) the version posted here has been moderately tweaked. There are many stylistic and character issues that I would love to alter but doing so would require a truly drastic rewriting of this work. Changes made here are mostly for my benefit (i.e., there were certain passages that made me want to spork out my own eyes) but if you wish to see this piece as it was originally posted, you may find it on my website at: http://drachenfutter.tripod.com/frames/voltron/bw1.html

Date: 5 Karos 124th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _myn’Ael-a-ben’shteof_ Aerie  
Time: One shadow past sun’s setting

The chick snuggled closer to his mother, letting the words of her story wash over him like the warmth of her wings.

"And that," she said, "is why we must always ask the Gods for their forgiveness for killing anything, be it a Tree or a Ki’ir-ar. Because before we were given individual form we were all the Tree and we were all the Ki’ir-ar. When we forget to honor that which we once were, that's when Anai comes to us and whispers her poison into our ears."

"Do we have to honor the Wingless-ones?" the chick asked. "Were we once one with them?"

The mother paused, struggling with the answer. Her mouth pursed as if she had eaten a sour Kawa berry and the chick knew no matter what her words were, the answer was no. He nodded to himself. That made sense. The Wingless-ones were too different from himself to have ever been a part of that great Oneness.

"Yes," the mother said at last. "Even them."

"And the Tsa-Eitog?"

"Of course." The mother gathered her son close to her. She put her cheek to his head, stroked his soft, fine hair. "As the Gods above are balanced, so too are the creatures below. And when the balance is disturbed, there is war."

"Oh." The chick looked out, past the opening of their nest, to where the sky glowed orange and red from a distant fire. "So, we fight because we're trying to restore the balance?"

"Yes. When the world is balanced once more, then there will be peace. And we will be able to lay down our weapons and raise our voices in song and fly free and unafraid.”

“Why is the world unbalanced?” The chick looked up at his mother, eyes wide with the innocence of youth.

“Because we grew arrogant and lazy and thought ourselves better than our Gods. We made our Gods weak and they could not protect us from the demons the Tsa-Eitog called down upon us. We have sinned and are being punished for this sin. To atone we must fight and make our Gods strong again and restore the balance."

The chick nodded sleepily and felt his mother shift behind him, wings coming round to enclose him in comforting darkness. He wondered what peace was like. He wondered if the Wingless-ones knew peace, or only war like he did.

"Mama," he said, sleepy and soft. "Do you think the Wingless-ones know about this?"

"Of course," his mother said. She looked at the fire with sad, old eyes though she was not old herself. "They are our punishment. When they are all gone, that is the day that we have finally atoned. Now go to sleep, little one. And dream sweet dreams of wind and sky."

The chick slept. And he dreamed of a world that he had never known, a world of freedom, a world stained red with the blood of redemption.


	2. Interlude

_An excerpt from  
A Condensed History of the Alliance   
by Vynan al’Tomn,   
Recorder for the planet Harmon.  
Translated into Basic by Henry J-van of dEkk-mnz._

_Many historians state (and with good reason) that the Alliance began with the founding of New Earth approximately three millennia before the Coming of the Five. The settlers of New Earth came upon this planet through accident, originally intending to establish a record colony on Calisto, the largest of Jupiter’s moons. However, the vessel accidentally slipped into a phenomenon that is known as a “Worm hole” that deposited the craft in the Zonai system. The First Terrans have been the only citizens of Earth-prime to make it to the Zonai system in the history of this galaxy._

 _Because these first settlers had intended to build a colony dedicated to preserving the history and knowledge of Earth-prime, the settlers were quickly able to form such a colony on their new planet. It is because of this lucky happenstance that we have any knowledge of Earth-prime; to have lost this ancient knowledge would have been the worse catastrophe to occur to Sentients everywhere. However, it wasn’t only the coincidence that the lost ship was a colony-founding that accounted for the easy adaptation. All records indicate that New Earth is very similar to Earth-prime in everything save the greater number of indigenous species, the two extra moons, and the size (New Earth being slightly larger in circumference)._

 _The first three millennia on New Earth were spent surviving, exploring and expanding, until New Earth had been shaped into it’s present form. It was after this period of reorganization that New Earth developed their Space Technology to the point where deep-space travel could be achieved in a reasonably short time. This advance allowed the Terrans to make First Contact with two more members of the original Five: Arus and Nemai._

 _It should be noted, however, that contact with Arus was more on the part of the Arusians, rather than the Terrans, for Arus is situated in what is now known as the Intermediate-Galaxy--a range that was too far for the first Deep-Space ships. The alliance between Arus and New Earth was the First Alliance, created out of peace and a desire to learn. The alliance was probably highly facilitated by how alike the Arusians and Terrans are in appearance. In fact, except for having a higher concentration of iron in their blood system and a greater resistance to alcohol poisoning, Arusians are exactly like Terrans._

 _A decade later, the Arus-Terra alliance allied with a third: the Renstat of Nemai. This alliance was born out of the Renstat need for military assistance against an indigenous and deadly species of their planet: the Ki’ir-arni. The Ki’ir-arni are a winged species, their evolutionary track compensating for Nemai’s extreme gravity by making them medium-to-reasonably tall, streamlined in form, and winged as opposed to the stout, and almost monstrously strong Renstat. The Ki’ir-arni are the closest fauna on Nemai to approaching some form of sentience. However, despite their humanoid form, the Ki’ir-ar are extremely primitive and bestial, their savagery belying any attempts at a civilized veneer that they might put on. Statistically based, one Ki’ir-ar fighter is the equivalent of a platoon of Landed-foot._

 _The war that then raged on Nemai--a war that has yet to end--drew in a fourth member to the alliance, the planet Harmon which is situated in the same star-system as Nemai. The lizard-like sentients of Harmon were the first non-humanoid race to enter the alliance. The Harmonai were first contracted as mercenaries, before later becoming full allies._

 _The Harmonai are responsible for the final planet to join the First Alliance. Because of the Harmonai connections as inter-planetary mercenaries, they were able to introduce the highly advanced dEkk-mnzvar to the Arusians, Terrans and Nemaians. The dEkk-mnzvar technology made the greatest difference in the First Ki’ir-ar war and a hundred and fifty years after the Nemaian alliance with Arus and Terra, the First Ki’ir-ar war ended._

 _At the end of war, anger at the Ki’ir-arni was great. Many members of the Alliance of Five wished to exterminate the half-million prisoners of war. However, the heads of the Alliance--the first Council of Five--decided to institute the enslavement of all Ki’ir-arni as compensation. They decreed that the Ki’ir-ar were non-sentient creatures, equating their intelligence with that of clever monkeys. The Council issued the Articles of Enslavement as a means of regulating the Ki’ir-ar slaves._

 _This edict was slow to take, since many citizens of the Alliance feared the Ki’ir-arni. The Council ordered the first Training Facility to be built in response to this fear. This first Facility, which was originally a complex on the planet-moon Ymn’ki in the Lyven system, was completed in 184 A.F and christened Moratum. In later years, Moratum was to take over Ymn’ki, and change its title from Training Facility to Medicinal Research Complex. Though many now view Moratum as a grand and honorable institution, it should be remembered that every medical breakthrough was first tested on the Ki’ir-arni sent there. And that Moratum’s purpose is--as it always has been--to break the wills of those slaves sent its way._


	3. Chapter 3

Date: March 7, 10021 A.F.  
Location: Alliance Outpost Guttterblod IV,  
Keris City, Hontar,  
Nemai, Tondar quadrant.  
Time: 0730 STG

Commodore Hendrick Bjornson of the League of Allied Planets, hated Nemai. His post should have been a temporary position; he was only supposed to oversee the transport of the Ki'ir-ar slaves to detainment camps on Terra. But, thanks to the damnable slave insurrection in '15, he had been stuck on this planet for almost two years. His little Sven wouldn't be so little anymore. Oh how he missed his family.

He supposed he should be grateful that he didn't have the problems that his predecessor had. All he had to do was clean up the survivors before they were shipped to work planets. He hadn't had to fight a war against a truly demonic leader. No, his battle was against the remants of a broken band; they were weak, but they still held him captive on this planet, trapped him by their rebellion.

Bjornson frowned at the thought of the rebel leader. The source of all of his trouble stood chained to a post in the middle of the courtyard, his howling, bird-like curses penetrating the complex. Bjornson paused in front of one of the many windows that lined the base's walls and looked down into the courtyard at his captive.

The young Ki'ir-ar, number VN-666-873-92 according to the records he held, had spirit, Admiral Bjornson grudgingly admitted. Even now, eight months after his capture, this particular Ki'ir-ar still resisted his captors with such hatred and ferocity that it was deemed savage by even the other members of his barbaric race. Nothing could overcome his great spirit. The beatings and broken bones, sleep deprivation and constant harangues designed to tear down the self-worth and psychological well being of the victim, were all useless. Even now, chained by painful Light-shackles, stripped of his clothing, powerful golden-red wings stretched as far as the could go and hanging by his wrists from a beam suspended ten feet in the air he still maintained his arrogance and feral mien.

But, Bjornson had been expecting more resistance from VN-666-873-92 than from the rest of the worthless creatures. The young Ki'ir-ar had single-handedly led the slave resistance for six years before his capture. He had freed almost five thousand slaves and despite multiple captures, had managed to escape within a week on his incarceration! Even breaking his wings hadn't managed to stop him.

VN-666-873-92 screamed in pain as one of the soldiers guarding him pulled a long pin feather from his wing. The men had been at this new "sport" for a while, a wing and a half completely plucked, the Ki'ir-ar's blood dripping onto the large mound of feathers beneath him. Bjornson supposed he should stop them at some point, out of protocol more than anything else. Yet, he couldn't help his fascination at how human and how alien the Ki'ir-ar looked.

The slave was certainly a handsome devil. Black, unruly hair, skin the color of burnished gold, soulful eyes that gleamed wetly in the Nemai sun, slightly Asian features and smooth, sleek muscles. Even the wings could have been pleasing to look at had they had their full plumage. It was amazing how something so human looking could be so very different from any humanoid he had ever encountered.

 _Cut off those wings and he could easily pass for a young Terran_ , Bjornson marvled, gazing in awe at the young man below him.

Then his thoughts turned to the ten thousand and some odd years of fighting that had marred this planet, and the staggering number of Alliance lives that had been destroyed by the ferocity with which the Ki'ir-ar fought. Sixteen full scale wars had been waged on this planet, since the Alliance was first formed, and over seven hundred slave revolts. The Galaxy Garrison managed to put the attacks down each time, but to have even one drop of Alliance blood spilled on this godforsaken planet was the worse sacrilege possible. It was such a pity that slave VN-666-873-92 had chosen to resurrect the rebellious spirit of those few Ki'ir-ar that remained free. There had been such hope for an end to the fighting on Nemai when the millennium turned two decades ago.

Bjornson's face turned ugly, twisted with anger. _That damn pup. If not for him, we could have finally been able to send men to more important quadrants of the galaxy, where they were_ really _needed. Instead, we just waste more Terran lives on these worthless creatures. Violent, stupid, beasts!  
_

Though Bjornson had only fought in one battle against the Ki'ir-ar, that single encounter had been more than enough to give him nightmares about his Ki'ir-ar opponents for months afterwards. The winged aliens attacked with a bestial frenzy, one 'warrior' doing more damage to with the Ki'ir-ar's strange, sword-like weapons than an entire platoon of Land-Foot and their heavy artillery. They showed no mercy, slaughtering everything that lived, and preferred to kill themselves rather than risk capture.

"Sir, the last of the Ki'ir-ar slaves in this complex have boarded the transport." A young ensign came to stand by his elbow, respectfully deferential.

Bjornson tore his attention from the torture of the rebel leader to look at the young shinvai. "Good. Tell Control to give them the Go-ahead signal."

The Commodore paused and looked down at the now featherless Ki'ir-ar. The alien's struggles were growing weaker. Bjornson shuddered at the ugly, naked wings and the thin, translucent skin that was stretched tautly over the wing bones. The soldiers had taken to using the hanging slave as target practice out of sheer boredom. The young alien had been hanging from the post for nearly two days in an attempt to break his spirit, but the Ki'ir-ar remained as defiant as ever. Bjornson frowned. It was time to admit defeat and ship VN-666-873-92 off to Moratum and let the Alliance deal with breaking him. Besides, if he remained here much longer, he would be killed and all the vital information he carried would be lost. He turned back to the Ensign and gestured for him to come closer.

"Go stop those fools from wasting ammunition on that Ki'ir-ar down there. And tell them to put him on the transport to Moratum."

"Yes sir." The ensign saluted, and moved off, speaking the commands into his com-link. In the courtyard the idling soldiers jumped to attention as the orders were barked at them. Bjornson watched only long enough to ensure that his orders were being carried out before moving off to his study, his mind occupied with more important matters that the removal of one Ki'ir-ar.

Grumbling, the men violently pulled the Ki'ir-ar off the post, yanking on the captive's arms and naked wings, manhandling him to the Main Gate. They hated these aliens with just as much passion as their commodore, but this was the only Ki'ir-ar that they had been ordered to do with as they wished, and they relished the chance to do so. One of the guards took his cigarette from his mouth and snuffed it on the skin below the Ki'ir-ar's eye with a laugh. His amusement turned to anger as the youth refused to react, so exhausted that he couldn't even flinch. This wouldn't be the first time that a cigarette had been extinguished on his skin.

The man growled, and lit up another cigarette. He took a long drag and expelled a plume of blue smoke into the air before barking orders at the rest of the soldiers. They dragged the Ki'ir-ar's limp and unresisting body across the courtyard and over the rough flagstones, a bloody trail marking their passing. They manhandled his body into the hold of waiting ship, bound for the Galaxy Garrison's premiere medical outpost back in the Sol quadrant.

As the transport quickly became nothing but a small dot against the brilliant blue sky, a pair of huge, shadowy wings ghosted over the complex, accompanied by a soft rattle, like pebbles being dropped onto a tin roof. Moments later, the complex exploded with a rush of hot air and billowing flames.

The wings circled once, twice, three times and then drifted on past the flaming base, a strange cry of triumph streaking through the roar of the flames.

  



	4. Interlude

  
_“The Role of the Ki’ir-ar In Society”_   


_As all know, the Ki’ir-ar are feared and despised throughout the Alliance. Every child has seen vids of the Ki’ir-ar attacks on our Renstat allies; every child of the Alliance is familiar with the destruction just one of these feral creatures can cause. From the moment they can understand, every child of the Alliance is taught to hate the Ki’ir-ar, to hate them with undying passion, to hate them and hurt them and enslave them. We fear the Ki’ir-ar, fear what they can do [...] And yet, we let these things into our homes, entrust them with mining our ore, tending our fields, scouting the land before our troops._

 _The Ki’ir-ar holds a dualistic position in our society: at once a monster and a pet, a savage beast and a gentled servant. Perhaps it is this dualistic view that allows us to keep Ki’ir-ar as slaves. We can punish the stupid brutes for daring to attack Sentients; though it is perhaps unfair of us to do so. The Ki’ir-ar are only animals, after all, and cannot be held accountable for their savage actions. It is an innate property of the Ki’ir-ar to be savage, just as it is an innate property of the lamb to be gentle. Yet as much as we hate and despise the Ki’ir-ar, we are drawn to them as well. We find the Ki’ir-ar beautiful, take pride in having a Pleasure Slave in our possession [...] there are even those who ‘collect’ Ki’ir-ar; Civilians for the most part, but some ranking members of the G.G. also participate in this most unusual of hobbies. It is the Collectors who have classified the Ki’ir-ar, given the Alliance the different breeds, and who have pioneered the captive Ki’ir-ar breeding program. They claim that it is possible to breed the savagery out of the Ki’ir-ar -- however, since both sexes have their own reproductive cycle and since the Ki’ir-ar females seem to have a physiology that is actively hostile to the Ki’ir-ar fetus, this rather exaggerated claim is most likely wishful thinking. As a rather odd aside, there seems to be no such difficulty in producing offspring when a Ki’ir-ar is coupled with another humanoid._

 _[...] There are even some would claim that the Ki’ir-ar are Sentient, citing our own particular linguistic choices when discussing the Ki’ir-ar’s multitude of attacks that have marred the millennia since they were first discovered. They claim that by calling the conflicts ‘wars’ and the very existence of The Articles of Slavery show that we of the Alliance do think of the Ki’ir-ar as more than base beasts._

 _‘Would we call a dog a slave?’ they ask, ‘or set forth a writ detailing what a cat may or may not do?’ Such poor fools would fight to have the Ki’ir-ar declared Sentient -- an action that would undoubtedly tear the Alliance apart. [...] Skulking in shadow, these so called “Liberators”, this shadowy party of anarchists and idealistic fools, are said to have infiltrated even the highest echelons of the Alliance, forcing their subversive agenda on the general populace._


	5. Chapter 5

Date: 21 July 6749 A.U.  
Location: 1.5 kiv from Castle of Lions,  
Leon Lake, Lecub,  
Arus, Diamond Quadrant.  
Time: 1350 STG

Lance knew that he was being a wet blanket and casting a pall on what should have been a glorious day of R&R, but he couldn’t help it. By all rights, he should have been in the lake with the others, laughing and fooling around and unwinding from Lotor’s last attack, secure in the knowledge that Doom wouldn’t launch another offensive for a few months. He should have been relieved that Arus had only sustained minor damage this time around -- and that the damage had occurred in an uninhabited region, so there had been no casualties of any sort -- and the Lions had received none at all. But he couldn’t get into the proper frame of mind and he knew exactly why.

 _Bastard._ Lance glared down from his lofty perch on a low hill at Keith, who was perched on Sven’s shoulders and trying manfully to push Pidge into the water. He looked good. Happy. _Probably doesn’t even remember what today is._

Which was probably unfair, but Lance preferred to think that Keith had forgotten the significance of this date; the alternative was worse. That Keith could be celebrating--

Lance cut that thought off and frowned, trying to calm the sudden mess of roiling emotions that twisted his stomach and turned the beautiful day dark and unpleasant. He idly tore up chunks of grass, rolling them between his fingers before spreading them and letting the severed blades drift away on the gentle breeze. _But he probably is. After all, he didn’t get_ his _heart ripped out and stomped on today. Sirao! I wish I could just...forget, or stop feeling or_ something _. Or make him hurt just as much as I am._

He spat to once side and made the sign of Samas almost immediately, already feeling guilt for his vengeful wish. No need to give Erge any more of his soul than necessary. And he didn’t really wish pain on Keith; well, maybe a little, but certainly not as much pain as he felt.

 _You’d think five years would have dulled the pain, not made it worse._ Lance sighed and pulled up another tuft of grass. He flopped back and closed his eyes and wished once more that Keith’s smile would stop making his stomach flip and sap him of all his will power. If Keith hadn’t smiled, Lance could have been comfortably ensconced in his room, a bottle of 10-year-old scotch opened and a snifter already filled and waiting. But, no. Keith had smiled at him and it just wasn’t fair; it wasn’t fair that a smile could make him feel like he was still in love.

“Lance?” A shadow fell over him and Lance opened one eye to squint up at the dark shape above him, which gradually resolved into Allura. “You okay?"

“No.” Lance pushed himself back up and didn’t bother to hide his scowl. If Allura wanted to bother him when he was obviously brooding then she could deal with the consequences. He huffed out a sigh, pulled one knee up until he could rest his chin on it. “Somebody should be on guard.”

“Now I _know_ we’ve slipped into an alternative dimension,” Allura mumbled. Lance raised an eyebrow and Allura sat down beside him before she answered. “Well, it’s either that or you and Keith have swapped bodies for the day. Seriously.” She looked down at the lake and grinned. “Something just isn’t right about this picture.”

Lance followed here gaze and snorted. “Yeah. Keith and Sven are winning.”

Allura dropped the grin, let her face become serious and concerned. “Lance, seriously. What are you doing up here?”

Lance contemplated telling Allura the truth for a long moment, seeing how Allura would react when she found out about him and Keith. He discarded that idea with a shake of his head. Just because he knew that Keith wasn’t a hero--wasn’t even a good man--didn’t mean that everybody else had to know that. Best to let Allura maintain her illusions. Besides, Aeris might have said no, so maybe Allura really did have a chance at the dream Lance had lost.

“Today is just a bad day for me,” he said. “Too many unpleasant memories.” It was mostly truth, enough to get Allura to drop her ‘Activities-Director’ attitude and leave him alone. That was the hope, at any rate.

“Want to talk?” Allura rubbed his arm and Lance frowned and moved away, but only just a little.

“No."

Out of the corner of his eye Lance saw Allura start, pull away a little, saw her face go from surprise to hurt to anger. “Fine. I’ll be down there.” She stood and walked down the hill and Lance supposed he should have felt bad but all he could feel was relief.

~~~

Keith couldn’t help himself. There was just something about seeing Lance brooding that always drew his attention. Perhaps it was because a thoughtful looking Lance was so rare and incredibly sexy. Or maybe it was because of the way this pensive cast contrasted so sharply with the normally roguish air. Or maybe it was simply a decent excuse to stare openly at Lance without worrying what everyone thought; if he was asked, he could always say he was concerned about Lance's welfare and this sudden change warranted careful observation. Whatever it was, Keith always found that his mind shut down when he saw Lance brooding, unable to do more than stare at him in mindless adoration.

And now, there he was. Just staring sightlessly across the lake, his face so solemn and so beautiful...

Sven stumbled, and Keith yelped as he fell from his perch on his friend's shoulders, landing in the chilly waters of the lake with a splash. The erection that had been threatening vanished as the chill invaded his flesh.

 _I needed that_ , Keith thought as he surfaced spluttering. _I can’t be captivated by Lance. He made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want me anymore, and I can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t want me either._

“Sorry. I slipped.” Sven reached down and pulled Keith up, using the motion as an opportunity to whisper into his ear: “Besides, I thought you could use a little help with your problem.”

“Thanks,” Keith whispered back wryly.

“Hah! We win!” Pidge crowed triumphantly.

“Great. Lets go eat.” Hunk grinned and dropped his partner into the lake before striding off towards the shore and the picnic basket.

“Hey! You big lummox! You aren’t supposed to drop me after we win!” Pidge shouted as he swam to shore.

Sven rolled his eyes and followed. “Coming Keith?”

“In a minute. I just...I’m going to go talk to Lance.”

Sven sighed. “Keith, stop. Nothing is going to change the past.”

Keith shrugged. “I know. It’s just...well, it’s just not like him to be so distant.”

 _Not anymore, anyway._

“Suit your self. But I am going to go eat before Hunk finishes off all the food. Although that may be a lost cause.” Sven grinned wryly as he glanced over at Hunk who was busily devouring the large picnic basket in his normally ravenous fashion.

Keith nodded and watched Sven go. It was nice that his friend cared about him so much, but sometimes it really wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t as if he were going over there to start something again. Lance had made it perfectly clear that that period of their relationship was over. It’s just...well...It wasn’t normal to see Lance brood. That was all. He was just being a good friend.

 _Right. I’m just checking up on my friend. And if I believe that than I’m worse off than I thought. Face it Keith. You still want him. You’ve always wanted him. But, **he doesn’t want you back**. You have to accept this. It’s been five years for Kami’s sake! Use some self-control, for once. Besides, he’s your friend again; your best friend. You can trust him with your life. Be glad of that. Don’t wish for what you can’t have._

 _I wonder why he’s brooding...Could it be that he remembers what today is? But then again, why would he remember? It’s been so long._ Keith sighed and ran a hand through his water-logged hair, frustrated at the indecisiveness that plagued him when it came to Lance.

“Captain Keith! There are some men here who wish to speak to you.” Coran’s voice halted Keith from further contemplation, and the young captain gladly turned to look at the aging counselor. It was something of a relief to slip back into his role as an officer, and to push aside the wistful thoughts that cluttered his mind.

He waded to the shore where Coran stood with two Galaxy Garrison MPs.

 _What do those MPs have to do with me?_ Keith wracked his brains as he approached, trying to remember if anybody on his team had done something to warrant police action. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith saw that Lance had rejoined the group, and he made a mental note to corner him after the MPs were through with whatever business they had.

“What can I do for you two Officers?” Keith asked politely. The older of the two men looked him over, then nodded at his burly companion. To Keith’s surprise the burly MP grabbed him, forcing his arms behind his back and locking them down in Currilam cuffs.

“Keith Seiko Tsumetai, you are under arrest for violation of the first, second, fourth, eighteenth and nineteenth Articles of Slavery, which prohibits any slave from holding a position of power in the Alliance, being armed, conspiring against the Alliance, and attempting to disguise yourself as a member of a Sentient race. You are also charged with the crimes of your master, General Onaa Masurao Tsumetai, and his wife, Kyoko Tsumetai. These crimes, Treason, Espionage, and First-Degree Sentient-slaughter, as well as the violation of the aforementioned Articles of Slavery, condemn you to death. Your public execution by burning will be in two weeks on New Earth.” The MP turned to the rest of the Voltron Force and executed a slight bow. “We at the Alliance apologize for the peril that you have been placed in and will grant you reparations for any injuries experienced while in contact with this Ki’ir-ar.”

Keith stared at the two men strangely, then began to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“Shut up, slave.” The burly MP slapped him hard across the face, catching his lip with a ring and ripping a brilliant gash in the tender flesh. Keith reeled back in shock, staring at the man who had hit him. Truth be told, though, he didn’t know which was worse: the blow or being called a slave.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing? That’s a Captain you’re assaulting!” Lance snapped. “You can’t just accuse him of being a Ki’ir-ar and haul him off to some sort of execution without a substantial amount of proof!”

“You want proof? Here.” The second MP, the one that had dropped this bombshell, grabbed Keith’s right arm, running a small scanner over his upper arm. Slowly, a number began to bleed through the skin, called up from below whatever cosmetic surgery had been done to cover it. “Slave number VN-666-873-92, the last unified Rebel Leader. Supposedly killed on 6 October, 6730. Is that enough proof for you?”

Keith gaped at the MP, still too shocked to comprehend what was being said. He couldn’t be a slave...could he? No. It was a trick, a nightmare. He was Keith Tsumetai, a Captain in the G.G., a human.

 _The General will sort this out,_ he thought desperately. _He has to. This. This is a mistake._

He looked at his friends as the burly MP forced him forward, wanting to find someone that didn’t believe what was being said about him, didn’t believe the tattoo on his arm. Allura stared at him in shock, Pidge in hurt confusion. Hunk was glaring at the MPs with a target-less anger. Sven’s look, somewhere between cold anger and disbelief, was painful to see, and he looked away quickly, as if by not seeing Sven's expression would mean it didn't exist.

There was no hope in their faces so Keith turned to Lance, his best friend, the man he had loved -- still loved, if he was being honest -- and it felt as though someone had sucker punched him. He wanted to curl in on himself, because Lance looked at him with pale sickness, a horrified disgust directed at Keith...and at himself.

Keith felt something deep within him break at the look, at the knowledge that the intimacy that he had shared with Lance made his former lover sick, that his best friend was so willing to believe these...fabrications. What was left of his soul shriveled at that look, at the loathing that he saw in Lance’s eyes. He bowed his head in shame and defeat, and not even the knowledge that all the Alliance had now was a lifeless shell could give him any sort of satisfaction.


	6. Interlude

  
_Being an Account of the Third War of Succession and the Escape of the Ki’ir-ar Slaves  
By My Hand  
Albrico Huwel, Court Historian_   


_And so, on the fourth day of the sixth month in the first year of the reign off King Arthfyw II, this being also the 3123rd year after the founding of the Alliance and the 73rd year after the death of King Teyrnfal IV, the cowardly remnants of the Pretender Dyrfig, twin brother of our good king, launched an attack upon the sleeping citizens. How two men, so alike in features as to be indistinguishable, could be so different in temper will always be a mystery to me. In direct defiance of Articles of Surrender and the Warrior’s Code, his men targeted not only the exhausted soldiers of Arthfyw, but their families as well. Their fighters screaming the Death Cry, they descended upon village after village, crashing their crafts into homes and farms, releasing payloads of salt upon fallow and fertile fields, destroying all in spite and wanton hate [...] King Arthfyw, having sought sleep only hours before the attack, was unprepared. Before he could even mount a counterattack, the last of the cowards had plowed into the sturdy stone walls of our Castle, which had stood tall and strong for the lifetimes of seventeen kings [...]_

 _And now, on this, the second day after that cowardly attack, I am able at last to give a full accounting of what we have lost. [...] and several score of common folk who lived in the town at the foot of the Castle. But, terrible as the loss of life has been, the worse blow to our young king is the destruction of Whitefall, our ancient and hallowed home, whose vast crypts have held the remains of our kings and queens since time immemorial. Surely this is a terrible omen, a foul harbinger of times to come[...]_

 _I have heard reports this day that several of the survivors witnessed any number of our Ki’ir-ar slaves wandering off into the smoke and mist, dazed and maddened by the attack like the other chattel. The Cook tells me that he saw Brasja, the old King’s personal Ki’ir-ar, heading through a gap in the Castle’s walls, accompanied by three of the field Ki’ir-ar and two of our Songbirds. He says Brasja was speaking to the others in their tongue, and that it seemed as though they were purposeful and direct in their actions, but I deem this to be the wild babblings of a frightened man. And yet, if this is so, I wish them godspeed and hope that someone survives this day._


	7. Chapter 7

Date: 21 July 6749 A.U.  
Location: ACS _Pursues_ , the Brig  
Orbiting Planet Arus, Diamond Quadrant.   
Time: 1430 STG

Keith could feel the blood tricking down his chin, taste it as it welled from the gash on his lip. The tangy, salty taste was all too familiar, too well known to turn his stomach anymore. Besides, anything was better than having to focus on Lance’s face, to see that pained, disgusted, look--

 _No. Stop that. Think of something else. Anything else._ Keith closed his eyes, tried to conjure up some other image of Lance, some other face to erase the twisted visage that had been burned into his mind as he was being led away. A thousand images came to him, memories of Lance sleeping, laughing, gazing at him with love struck eyes...but none could replace the disgust; none could remove the horror, the loathing, in Lance’s eyes. The apathy that had taken his soul returned, rushing into the empty void, filling him with indifference to life, indifference to the world. What good was it to go on living if Lance hated him?

“Wot are we going ta do with ‘im, eh?” The sexless, six armed genda-khar prodded him with the butt of its gun, the scaly, shark-like face undulating horribly as it spoke. The lip-less mouth pulled back to expose row upon row of pointed, jagged teeth with each word, a predatory gleam in the small piggish eyes. Keith had only ever seen one other genda-khar before, and that had been back at the Academy. He remembered that Lance had stopped so suddenly that Keith had almost run into him, juggling his lunch tray and ready to snap at Lance until Lance had turned with a smile and said, “By Jhan, if _that_ is a vegetarian, I’d hate to see what sort of vegetables they have on its planet.”

The dusty memory brought a slight smile to his face. That had been back in the early days. Before they knew how to hurt each other. Before they had grown jaded and were no longer fascinated by the other’s every thought, every whim, every motion.

“Wot you smiling at, boy?” The genda glared at him, one of its thick, three-fingered hands clenching in anticipation. “Think this is funny?”

“Jorn, don’t let the little _pintak_ get to you,” the other jailer -- a Terran female -- counseled, laying one hand on a thick, scaly arm. “Probably can’t even understand what’s going on. You know how these Ki’ir-ar are, don’t have enough intelligence to know when they’re about to die.”

“Oh, but I do, Officer. I know that as soon as my father gets here and explains everything, you two are going to be court marshaled for inflicting bodily harm upon a superior officer.” Keith smiled coldly, grateful that his ability to lock all of his feelings away -- an ability that had often frustrated Lance -- kept his jailers from knowing just how frightened and confused he was inside. The genda laughed at him.

  
“Oh, you think so, slave? Well, why don’t you meet your neighbors?” The genda's cruel laughter followed Keith as he stumbled into the waiting cell, the harsh, mocking, gasping sound grating on his ears and capturing his mind as the gate closed and the bars suddenly glowed with a cold blue light, humming with electricity.

“Bastard,” Keith spat halfheartedly, lacking the will to truly care about either his jailers or himself. He rubbed his arms and paced the small cell, doing everything he could to avoid thinking about Lance, about the desire to die that welled up so violently within him.

 _This, too, shall pass. Remember that. You can get through this too._ Keith reached out and gently touched the glowing bars of his cell; he hissed in pain and pulled his hand away, hurt but glad to have something other than the turmoil in his mind to think about.

“So they got you too.” The voice was low and rough and so full of resignation that Keith almost didn’t recognize it.

He turned slowly, not wanting to believe his ears. It couldn’t be his father. It just couldn’t. “Father?”

“Well, I guess this is it.” General Tsumetai harrumphed and smoothed down his moustache. Though disheveled and obviously the worse for several days incarceration, he still managed to exude authority and Keith felt himself straighten up in unconscious response to his father’s presence. “Though for all our sakes, I do wish they hadn’t found you boy. When you went to Arus I thought -- Well. Never mind.”

“What. What are you talking about? Father, what’s going on?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your father.” The General stepped away from the bars that separated them, muttering under his breath and chewing on the ends of his moustache.

“Father?” Keith took a step closer, reached carefully through the bars. He felt like he was five years old and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like being afraid and lost and confused. “Father, please.”

“Stop calling me that! It’s over, Keith. Or should I say a’Shteru?”

“Who?” Keith shook his head. “I’m. What’s going on? Please. Won’t somebody tell me what’s going on?”

“You’re a Ki’ir-ar. We turned you into a sentient. They’ve caught us.” The General came back around in his pacing. “There. It's out. You're a slave and we're all going to die for what I've done."

“It’s not true,” Keith said. “It’s not true!”

“Of course it’s true.” Oona Tsumetai grimaced and turned away from Keith. "Why should I lie now?"

"No." Keith took a step back from the bars. "No. I don't believe--Where's Mom?"

"Dead." Oona's voice was dull and flat and it barely reached Keith's ears. "Do you think I'd let her be shamed by what you--What I did?" He laughed, low and bitter. "I would be dead too if I hadn't been so slow." He touched his stomach gingerly and Keith knew that there was a long gash beneath his clothes. "They did something to me. I can't kill myself. But you can. You can kill me." He turned back around and a strange, desperate fire burned in his eyes. "Kill me, Keith."

"No." Keith shook his head, though whether to clear it or emphasize his denial he didn't know. Oona growled and stepped as close to the bars that kept them apart as he could.

"Kill me. Don't let me dishonor my family's name."

"I'm not going to kill you, Father." Keith took a step back, only faintly aware that his heart was pounding in erratic fear.

"I am _not_ your father!" Oona roared and made as if to grab Keith through the cell's bars, but stopped before he touched the glowing metal. Anger and rage turned his face florid. "I am you master. I _own_ you, body and soul and you are mine to command. I _order_ you to kill me!"

"I won't!" Keith's shout echoed in the cold emptiness of the brig, but it couldn't drown out Oona's words.

"You are a Ki'ir-ar," Oona hissed. "A mindless animal I pulled from the gutter and taught how to ape his betters. I am your master and you _will_ listen to me, slave, you _will_ obey me. You're just a weapon, a tool, an object to be molded and used and melted down once you've served your purpose."

"No," Keith mumbled. "No. I'm not. I'm a man." He turned away, then turned back, took quick steps forward until the light of the bars cast eerie shadows on his frightened, confused face. "I'm your son. I'm not. I'm not a thing." His breath came harsh and fast. "I'm _not_!"

"You are. You're just a thing. A mangled, broken thing. So do what you were made to do. Kill me." Oona stared at Keith with a cold, searching look, watching the devastation that his words caused. "Kyoko always hated you," he said suddenly, almost conversationally. "She couldn't stand touching you, pretending to care for you. She wanted to kill you from the first day I brought you into our home, still dazed from the memory wipe, as innocent as a baby. Perhaps I should have listened to her."

"Stop it." Keith's voice was soft first, and then he screamed, the words ripped from the center of his being. "Stop it!"

He grabbed onto the glowing bars and for a moment there was nothing. Just blue light crackling across his skin and the confused rage his father's words had conjured.

Then the pain began.

He screamed when the electricity flowed through him, the sound torn from his throat. Wave after wave coursed through his body, baking his flesh, roasting him from the inside out. The skin on his hands blackened and bubbled, the hair that covered his body began to shrivel and burn, the harsh smell mingling in a sickening combination with the odor of his cooking body. The lights flickered around him, as more and more energy was suddenly sucked into the bar’s power supply, drawn by the sudden addition of a new circuit. A mad, howling laughter filled the air, coming from some unknown source until Keith realized that he was making the noise, that he was the source of the wavering, haunting howl.

Then, something burst. Something shattered within the back of his skull, crackling and fizzing, tearing at his body from the inside. The pain was intense, worse than the currents that ran through him, the currents that killed him in slow agony.

Crying with the pain that suddenly overwhelmed him, Keith pulled his hands away from the bars, freeing them with a sickening noise, tearing the skin from where it was cooked onto the metal, sealed there by his blood. Whimpering, unable to think of anything except removing the source of the pain, he scratched and tore violently at the back of his neck, pulling away the soft, half-baked flesh. Blood oozed down his back in a ruddy stream, steaming slightly as it hit the air. His fingers grew slick, slipping more and more in their frantic search.

Muscle, nerve, tender fat; all were ripped through, torn out in jagged, painful strips, until finally, his fingers reached bone. The slick vertebrae vibrated slightly, filled with some unknown current, humming in a barely noticeable fashion. His clawing fingers suddenly snagged, caught on a round piece of metal that stuck out from the base of his skull. The pain suddenly intensified, and it felt as if part of his skull had been torn free. Keith latched onto the metal, pulling and worrying the object with an insane determination; a cool liquid coursed over his hands every time he pulled the knob, sliding the small metal rod out further with each jerk.

Then something snapped. And his mind was filled with memories.

“Oh God!”

It was an involuntary cry. There was no god who could save him now, no power strong enough to pull him from this new hell. He felt as if he were drowning in the images, the ghosting sensations that rushed over him. The feelings overwhelmed him, mercilessly bombarding him, clawing away at his sanity.There was too much, too many images, too many smells, touches, tastes, sounds to process. Why must he remember? Why hadn’t he died yet?

Blood and death and pain and mud and rain and more pain and more flames and feathers falling, falling, falling to bloody mud and all he could hear were screams, endless screams. Screams that burst in his head like fireworks, shattered his mind, but even that was better than the blood that stained his body, clumped his hair together and weighed down his wings and coated his mouth and eyes and nose and poured down his throat in heavy, sticky richness until his stomach rebelled but he couldn’t get all of the blood out, no how hard he tried, and he had tried so hard, tore at his flesh and tried to open himself up so that all that blood would pour away and the screams would stop and the pain would stop and then-

Then there was only blessed blackness.


	8. Interlude

  
_Excerpts from  
Religion and Belief in the Alliance  
Compiled by Daniel Woodsworth  
Of Planet Westford_   


  


  
_Chapter Seven: Balthos_   


_Of the Twenty-two Alliance planets, planet Balthos -- seventh planet to ally -- is the richest in terms of tradition and religion. Matriarchal in practice, there is almost a one-to-five ratio of women to men. This has given rise to a polygamous society [...] There are seven major ecclesiastical beliefs, six of which are monotheistic, and nearly 1.5 million cults. The six monotheistic sects claim to worship the same Deity -- indeed, they are very alike in tradition, teachings and practice. When I interviewed the heads of each sect, they were quite adamant that they were truly of one religion._

 _The system is unique, each sect claiming rule over a certain aspect of life, from family, to home, to work, to leisure, etc. The followers of each sect believe that their domain is the best way to reach Jenis-the equivalent of the Terrans Christian concept of Heaven [...] The largest of all the religions is the polytheists -- who call themselves “Yehu-Sama” or “Seekers of the One” -- who worship twelve deities. They prescribe to the “Circle of Life” theorem; that is, mortals must go through a series of births and rebirths, each lifetime either allowing or prohibiting the mortal from reaching “Samadan” or “Oneness with All.” They are what many members of the Alliance would term “humanists”, striving to do what is right and just. The goal of a Yehu-Sama is to have each rebirth take them one step closer to Samadan._

 _However, unlike most religions who seek an utopian afterlife, the Yehu-Sama’s have no rules or guidelines that lead to the attainment of Samadan; in fact, the only rule that applies to this religion is the prohibition of any form of interaction (carnal or social) with the Ki’ir-ar. The Ki’ir-ar are, to the Yehu-Sama, the religious equivalent of Politicians; a necessary evil, but one that must be avoided. They place the burden of reaching their Nirvana squarely upon the shoulders of the practitioners. Personal morality, beliefs, and values determine the quality of ones next life. In their words, “Han y’lam Gervan, esa j’har Sai” or “Let the conscience be your guide.” [...]_

 _They are very close to their deities, and reports of avatars and the Gods themselves actually walking among their worshipers are not uncommon. Just how true these reports are remains to be seen. However, they should not be dismissed lightly, for the Yehu-Sama are known to be capable of almost miraculous deeds; and for their uncanny luck. The Gods and Goddesses worshiped by the Yehu-Sama are as follows, in the order of “Spiritualness, Worldliness, and Darkness”._

 _Samas: The all-father figure. All knowing, Samas has a position similar to that of Odin for the Nordic-revivalists of Terra and Yama. However, unlike the high God of most religions, Samas is thought to have a very personal relationship with each of his followers. His name is liberally used in curses, blessings, and casual oaths, and the Yehu-Sama don’t consider it blasphemous to call on him directly. He is also the God that “heroes” and “warriors” go to in death. He purportedly grants courage, intelligence in battle, strength, agility and calm nerves, and is something of a battle God. He symbolizes the “warrior,” often appearing as a knight, or someone equally chivalrous. He is supposedly married to Laran and the sire of Sirao._

 _Sirao: A mischievous God, Sirao is the patron of all Arts, holding a position similar to that of the Muses. He is the favored God of those who found their calling in the Liberal Sciences, the musicians, artists, authors, sculptors, orators, etc. Oddly enough, he is also the patron for pranksters, thieves, assassins, politicians, and daredevils. The child of Samas and Laran, Sirao is also the guardian of the youth, and the symbol of innocence -- and mischief. He is the eternal child, and thus a favorite of those who are “eternal children” themselves -- the men and women who never seem to relinquish the love for life and adventure, or the creativity that they had in childhood._

 _Laran: A scholarly Goddess and the mate of Samas, the highest of the Yehu-Sama ecclesiastical leaders call upon her as their Patron Goddess. She is responsible for the accumulation and continuation of knowledge and learning and is often the Deity prayed to when in a bind. Unlike Samas and Sirao, Laran is taken far more seriously and treated with a somewhat greater degree of respect, since without her there would be no thought or emotion -- or even life, for she is credited with the creation of the world. She is truly what defines the living and the sentient, or at least to the Yehu-Sama. That isn’t to say, though, that many geno (a Yehu-Sama priest) dedicate themselves to her, for she is something of a demanding Goddess. She is also said to be the mother of Sirao._

 _Kentok: Goddess of money. Kentok is one God that it isn’t wise to fall out of favor with, for she is responsible for the wealth of Balthos. She determines how successful (or unsuccessful) one will be. She is also known as the Gambling Goddess, or simply as Luck._

 _Lycon: A love Goddess of sorts, Lycon is more aptly termed a “Lust Goddess.” She is the Goddess that those who wish for the physical side of love would pray to. She induces an almost animalistic desire in the parties, bestowing this physical attraction impartially. However, she is also the Goddess of beauty, charm, charisma, seduction and the healer of flagging marriages._

 _Cherion: The true God of love. Brother to Lycon, Cherion is responsible of the emotional aspect of love. He is considered the lord of all forms of love, from platonic friendship to the burning devotion of lovers. He is also responsible for unrequited love. Lycon and Cherion are often considered to go hand in hand, but should always be considered separate deities. Cherion is far more fickle and dangerous than Lycon, for if you offend Cherion it is entirely possible that you will find yourself either loving too much or too little. And getting back in his favor is a long and painful process._

 _Ran: The Messenger God, Ran is usually depicted as a winged God, and symbolized by a lightening bolt. He is also considered Death by the Yehu-Sama, and while not exactly feared, he is not exactly loved either. He is considered a constant in life, and a cunning, unavoidable opponent. He is part of the Yaman, or the Fates; the three Deities who are responsible for the life and events of a mortal._

 _Cho: The God of Birth. Cho is responsible for distributing attributes and determining where one is placed on the Cycle. He is the judge of souls and is greatly feared._

 _Jhan: The Goddess of Life. She determines the events of both the person life, and the events of a world’s life; she is responsible for times of peace and times of war, for genocide and mass murders, and whether or not the meteor speeding towards the planet is actually going to hit. Some what of a sadist, she is sometimes considered the most powerful of the Yehu-Sama deities. Most of the religious holidays of the Yehu-Sama (and many of their everyday prayers) are to appease her and ensure that life continues on as normal._

 _Erge: The Father of Evil. He is the creator and inducer of all of the world's ills. Said to resemble a beautiful man, he is a tempter and tormentor. As the myth of his creation goes, he was ripped from the planet, a cancerous formation that was poisoning Balthos and killing all life._

 _Arn: Goddess of War. She is responsible for the evils of war, for the torture of captured prisoners, the rape of the land, and the justification for genocide. She is the antithesis of Samas, for there is nothing glorious about her war. Supposedly the child of Erge and his rape of Lycon._

 _Ratri: Goddess of Chaos and disorder. She is the twin of Erge and his mate. Ratri is the Goddess of psychopaths and cold-hearted killers. She goes against everything that the Yehu-Sama believe in, and was also assigned as the mother of the Ki’ir-ar, who are thought to be a product of her coupling with Ran._


	9. Chapter 9

Date: 21 July 6749 A.U.  
Location: Counsel Room A, Fourth Floor,  
Castle of Lions, Lecub,  
Arus, Diamond Quadrant.  
Time: 1500 STG

“Well? What’s our attack plan? How are we going to rescue Keith?” To Pidge, the barely suppressed excitement and righteous vindication in Allura’s voice rang discordantly with the feelings of shocked disgust that pervaded the room.

"Rescue? You want to _rescue_ that...thing?" Sven sneered in utter contempt. "He's a Ki'ir-ar. Worse, he's a Ki'ir-ar who tried to be human. He deserves the flames."

Allura stared at Sven in shock, horrified by both the nature of the words spoken and the pure venom in his voice. “How can you even say such a thing! This is Keith you’re talking about! Keith, your _captain!_ ”

“He's no captain of mine,” Hunk growled, bluff, honest face red with unreasoning anger. “I can’t believe that he managed to trick us all for so long.”

“Goddess! Do you two realize what you’re saying? How can you turn on Keith so quickly? Doesn’t his friendship mean anything?”

“What friendship?” Lance asked, soft voice conveying his bleak despair. His words were spoken by rote, dull and mechanical, hollow and meaningless. “He’s a Ki’ir-ar. The only thing he is fit for is slavery.”

“No! I _refuse_ to believe that there is nothing left for us to do! There _has_ to be something, some way that we can stop this!”

"Well count us out, Princess,” Sven shot back. “We'll do nothing to help that slave. Unless it's to kill him.”

“You bastards! You craven, cowering, worms! How easily you forget all that Keith has done for you!” Allura’s gaze pierced each of the men. Her anger pinned them in place until, one by one, they looked down, ashamed. “Well, _I_ haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten what Keith has done for my planet, and for me. And since you’re all too spineless to help me, too brainwashed by Alliance propaganda to allow _your_ experiences to be your guide, well. I guess I'll just have to fight them myself. Keith is the most courageous, kindest, noblest and honorable man that I have ever known. He is far worthier of sentience than the rest of you. And I will _not_ have his blood on my hands.”

Allura stormed from the room, her fury wrapped around her like a cloak, and Pidge watched her go from his seat at the long counsel table, weighing her tirade against his own feelings. The youngest of the group at eighteen, Pidge came from the unique position of not having had the pro-slavery propaganda ingrained into him as a child. The small planet-moon colony of Kevai where he had been raised was so remote and removed from the rest of the Alliance that Pidge hadn’t even heard of the Ki’ir-ar until he had been sent to one of the Priman Quadrant’s Space Academies.

Still, the stories he had heard there more than made up for the years he had never known of the existence of the Ki’ir-ar race; chilling stories, like how they drank the blood of their ‘prey’ before eating the flesh raw. He had had nightmares for a month after seeing the sheer destructive power of the Ki’ir-ar in a war footage clip. Nothing in the known universe frightened him more than the thought of being attacked by a Ki’ir-ar.

 _Yet...yet this is **Keith.** My hero, my idol, my protector. I trust Keith more than anyone in the world. More than my blood brother, even. Keith can’t be a Ki’ir-ar. He just can’t._

Nervously pushing his wire rimmed glasses up his nose, Pidge cleared his throat, catching his friends attentions.

“What is it Pidge?” Hunk snapped, his rage making him irritable.

“Do...don’t you think that Allura has...has a point?” Pidge quietly replied, keeping his gaze on his hands. “About helping Keith? ‘Cause...’cause I remember what they told us about the Ki’ir-ar in the Academy, and Keith...Well Keith just isn’t like that!”

“What? You too, Pidge? You know that you can't fake a slave tattoo! Have you all lost your minds? Are there any more slave-lovers here?” Sven suddenly whirled, black eyes latching on the pale and hunched form of Lance. “What about you? Going to stand up for your fuck toy?”

Lance flinched, body reacting as if he had been hit. He began to tremble, face taking on a greenish tinge under the harsh fluorescent lights. “’m going to go take a walk. ‘Scuse me,” Lance mumbled as he shuffled away from the wall where he leaned and shambled out of the room, shoulders hunched.

Pidge watched him go, filled with pity for the agony he knew Lance must be feeling. He turned on Sven, normally laughing eyes hard with reproach. “Dontcha think that was a little...harsh? Lance didn’t know Keith was Ki’ir-ar when he fell in love. And you know what his religion is like. He must feel worse than any of us.”

“So? He still slept with a slave.”

Pidge shivered at the coldness in Sven’s voice, the disdain with which he treated two of his oldest friends. “Don’t you have any compassion? Sven, how can you treat Keith with such...with such hatred? How can you betray him so easily?

“Because he killed my father!” Sven hissed.

“You can’t prove that!” Pidge shouted back. “You think _every_ Ki’ir-ar killed your father! Well, what about all the Ki’ir-ar that your father killed?”

“It's not the same thing, and you know it!” Sven's voice was quiet, cold, controlled, and that more than anything spoke of the depth of his anger. “The Ki’ir-ar are mindless beasts! They are slaves! _My_ father was a hero! How could you even _think_ to put their deaths in the same category as my father's!”

“How could you not? How can you still classify Keith...How can you conscientiously say that all Ki’ir-ar are beasts, are without sentience? Do you think that there is anything, _anything_ that could grant a being the intelligence -- the sentience -- necessary to do what Keith did?”

“Yes! Yes! I don't know how they did it! But, there is no way that those...those...Jävla pack slaves have _any_ sentience in them! If they were sentient, then why are they still being enslaved? Why are they not included under the Rights of Sentience? Answer me that, Pidge! Tell me why!”

“I don’t know! Because the Alliance is fucked up, that’s why! Because we’ve all gotten so used to having slaves that we can’t see just how goddamned wrong we are! Because we _can’t_ admit that we’re wrong! We can’t admit that we’ve been lying to ourselves, can’t admit that we’ve been doing the exact same thing that we’ve been fighting against.”

“No! It is because they are mindless killers. If they were Sentient, if they possessed the ability to reason deliberately, to think and feel and posses consciousness, then they would not kill as they do! They would not slaughter!”

Pidge paused, taken aback by the truth of Sven’s angry words. If the Ki’ir-ar -- if _Keith_ was Sentient, than why were they so destructive? Why did they murder, destroy? Why did the tales of their viscous ways frighten children into behaving, haunt the survivors of the many Ki’ir-ar wars? Why did _they_ wear chains? Maybe...maybe the Alliance was right. After all, they were the good guys. They were the defenders of liberty and justice. They had to be right. Right?

 _But, Sentients are just as bad as Ki’ir-ar...Zarkon is undoubtedly Sentient and he's destroyed entire planets. The Alliance has condoned genocide. There is no corner of the Known Universe that hasn’t faced war...Why, then, are the acts of the Ki’ir-ar so condemned? When viewed beside the acts of the Alliance, they pale in compassion. They’re laughable, merely feeble retaliation...And if they don’t have Sentience, than how do you explain Keith? How do you explain him, account for his mind, his soul? How can someone like him be an animal?_

Pidge shuddered, suddenly chilled by his epiphany, his mind drawing images and reports of Alliance deeds and viewing them in this new light. If the Ki’ir-ar were condemned to slavery for their violence, then what fate awaited the Alliance? What fate awaited a government that condoned their enslavement, condoned death and war and fear? Fearful rage bloomed within him, a desire to distance himself from this gross, corrupt system filling his soul.

“You’re wrong! They _are_ sentient! And if your goddamned bigotry, your stubborn, bull headed, senseless grudge is strong enough to stop you from helping your friend, then _you_ are the one without sentience! _You_ are the heartless monster, the unthinking beast! _You_ are the one that we should be protected against! Not people like Keith!” Pidge leapt from his chair, cold-rage giving power to his limbs. “I hope that you go straight to hell for this...this...cowardice! This sin! You are no man! You are only a demon clad in a man’s skin! God keep me safe from you, you pretender, you monster!”

Small frame trembling with the force of his emotions, Pidge stalked out of the counsel room. Sven watched him go, the coldness that marked his voice spreading through his body, freezing his heart, encasing his soul in cold anger. The heat of Pidge’s words barely stung him anymore, barely touched his protected soul. He was beyond words, beyond caring what others thought. Once more the Ki’ir-ar had taken from him that which he loved. All that was left to him now was revenge.

~~~

Location: Castle of Lions, Third Floor,  
Residence hall, Captain’s bedroom  
Time: 1550 STG

Lance felt sick.

No, he felt worse than sick. He felt defiled, shamed, dirtied. For the first time he was glad his father was dead, glad that his brothers were too far away to know of his sin, to know of the shame he brought upon the family. He was glad that his family would never have to know that he had slept with a Ki’ir-ar.

Lance shuddered. Even thinking that name made his bile rise, made him feel grimy and soiled. The idea that he...that he had actually _slept_ with a child of Ratri, let alone loved one of the bastards of Ran, plunged him into a despair so deep that all he wanted to do was kill himself.

 _Of course, if I did, I wouldn’t be surprised if was reborn a slug._

Yet...yet try as he might, Lance couldn’t banish the unwanted memories of Keith: the memory of Keith's head, thrown back in ecstasy, the feel of his soft flesh, the smell of his hair. Nor could he stop the surge of bittersweet pain from the love he still bore; the aching, painful desire and adoration that flooded his body with a sweet warmth. Each image, each feeling, stabbed him, tearing him with imagined barbs, squeezing him mercilessly as he tried valiantly to taint those pure, euphoric images with the filth that he now felt. His stomach twisted and churned within him, keeping him on the edge of agony.

He wandered down the castle halls, eyes blinded by tears that he tried to keep back. He was lost and alone and he needed to be comforted, reassured and wasn't at all surprised when he ended up in front of Keith's door, even though Keith was the cause of his anguish, his confusion. His hand was already raised to knock even though he knew Keith was gone, probably forever. The thought of never seeing Keith again, never being able to casually (always casually, never anything more, Lance couldn't handle it if it was anything more) touch Keith's arm, tug his hair, make him laugh and smile and run to him in his need made Lance's heart constrict.

He had to go in, though whether to kill his feelings for Keith once and for all or fill his senses with Keith he didn't know.

The room was dark when Lance entered. Dark and lifeless, empty though Keith’s things wouldn’t be removed until tomorrow. The feeling of a slowly ebbing life that was now permeating the castle was intensified here, magnified until it was a wonder that no one else had managed to pick up on the sheer despair that radiated from this room.

 _I shouldn’t be here..._

Yet here he was. Here he was, drifting about the cold,

Spartan room, a room that was even emptier once he banished the concealing darkness; and yet he was oddly comforted by that very emptiness. It was amazing to see how neat, how incredibly ordered everything was. Amazing -- and depressing too, since the rigid organization made it all too plain just how little Keith owned, how little evidence there would be that he existed once he died. Even less, now that all these few possessions were no longer his, repossessed by the Alliance as contraband, just more items to sell in an auction.

 _Wonder what the Alliance is going to do when they realize all they’re going to get from him are a bunch of books and some weapons?_ Lance smiled at the vindictive thought. The smile faded, though, as his thoughts took a darker turn. _Gods, this would be so much easier if he had just died...There wouldn’t be any confusion. If he'd just died, then I could mourn, I could just be lost; if he'd just died then I wouldn't feel so...ashamed for my grief._

 _Oh Keith...What happened to us? Why didn’t you tell me what you were? Why did you betray me?_ Lance tried to swallow around the lump that formed in his throat, tried to see through the hot tears that blinded him, blurred the world around him. He was being destroyed by the conflict within. By his betrayal. By his love. He needed to sit down. He needed to find himself again, figure out which was stronger: the disgust or the desire.

The desk, the only sign that this room had been inhabited, beckoned. Lance slid into the heavy wooden chair, muscles trembling from the conflict he felt within. What _was_ he doing here? Shouldn’t it be obvious where his loyalties lay? Shouldn’t he be able to dismiss Keith again, just as he had for five long, long years?

His hands stroked the cool wooden desktop, running over the soft leather blotter, touching the papers, the folders. He looked around again, searching for some sign of Keith, some indication of the man who had lived here until just a few hours ago. But there was nothing that screamed _'Keith!'_ , no unique mark, nothing that Lance could latch onto and prove that Keith had existed, that there had ever been a man he had loved, that Keith had been a person and not just a brief note in the history of the Universe.

 _Fuck._ Lance felt tears welling and dashed them from his eyes with an angry shake, but they kept coming and dropped down, staining the paper on the desk. _No. He **was** real. He **did** exist._

Lance stood and strode to the bookcase. He pulled out book after book, flipping through them in search of a bookmark, a scribbled note in the margins, tossing them angrily to the floor when each appeared as pristine as the day they'd been bound. He rifled through Keith's drawers, ransacked Keith's closet, searching from something other than the standard issue gear: a hidden picture, a stack of porn, an indication the personality that sparked and burned so brightly in his mind. The room's emptiness, which had comforted him only moments before, filled him with abject, inexplicable terror. He returned to the desk, tore apart the papers that lay so neatly stacked atop it, scattering the mundania of Arus's defense across the floor of Keith's room. He pulled the heavy drawers free, adding their contents mess he had created, strewing the impersonal contents of Keith's life about him until there was nothing left to open, nothing left to search.

Lance stared about him, trembling slightly from his frenzied destruction. He sank down into the mess he had made and buried his head in his hands. The tears he'd managed to push aside came rushing back, clouding his vision and lacing the corners of his mouth with bitter salt.

He wiped the tears viciously away, needing to destroy something more, to stave off the emptiness that loomed before him. He spotted an ugly ceramic paperweight that had somehow survived unscathed and picked it up, hefting it in one hand. With one fluid motion he hurled it across the room. It shattered against the far wall with a satisfying crunch and in the shards, something silver twinkled.

Heart pounding, Lance crawled across the room, thinking, _knowing_ , what it was that shone. A painful lump formed in his throat when his suspicions were confirmed and he reverently lifted the necklace out of the wreckage.

"Fuck," he whispered, prayer-like, into the chaos. "Fuck."

He stared down at the slim, silver necklace that lay heavy in his hand, relief and anger dueling within. He traced the flames etched into the pendant, the simple Latin phrase _Semper Fidelis_. It looked exactly the same as it did that day five years ago, when he'd taken it off and left Keith and Earth and most of his heart behind.

Lance closed his fist around the pendant, forced himself to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. He wanted to hurl the necklace away, to stop the painful memories that battered at his self imposed block. He put it on instead, tucking it under his turtleneck so that the cold metal rested against his skin and made him shiver. It felt familiar, but not comfortable, and Lance wanted to take it off. But this was proof of Keith's existence, so he pushed this discomfort away and poked through the shards. If the necklace was here, then there was a chance that--

And there it was.

For a long moment Lance couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The little velvet box -- grey now, covered in dust -- that sat among the wreckage unmanned him completely. He felt hot and suddenly ashamed at his wanton destruction. He wanted to run again, to flee to the farthest ends of the Universe. Flee from his betrayal and the unfamiliar, white-hot anger that filled him, made him bite his lip until his blood ran hot across his tongue.

 _Stupid_ , he thought to himself. _It's probably just the box. You_ know _where the ring is._

The reassurance rang true, and yet a part of Lance -- the part that refused to believe that Keith was a Ki'ir-ar, the part that clung white knuckled to hope -- wanted to believe that the ring was in there. Though he didn't know what he'd do if it was, didn't know how he'd react.

Slowly, forcing himself with every millimeter, Lance reached out and opened the box. Expecting to see nothing but empty blackness, the sight of the ring caught him almost off guard. His mind was blank for the span of his fluttering heart, and then all of the rage, all of the confusion, all of the hurt that had been building up the entire day slammed through his walls and found its focus in the golden ring that twinkled in mocking innocence up at him.

He stood with a burst of violent energy and ran and ran and ran until the air burned in his lungs and he was suddenly aware of space and the blood red tint of the dying day. He breathed deeply, filled his body with the fresh bite of clean air. His mind was somewhat calmer now, his pointless run from Keith's room to the top of the southwest tower having burned away the edge of his emotions.

"Gods, Keith. What does this mean?" Lance rubbed at his eyes. "What were you thinking?"

He looked down at the ring once more. Why was it here? Why wasn't it on Aeris's finger where it belonged -- or, at least, where he thought it belonged. He pulled it free from its satin bed and turned it over in his hands. It was hauntingly familiar, even though he'd only caught a distant glimpse of it before today -- and at the time the sight of Keith proposing to Aeris Ilyna had filled him with anger and grief so absolute that he hadn't been able to see. It was larger than he'd thought, and when he slipped it onto his ring finger it fit him perfectly, as though this was where it was meant to be. But that was foolishness, because Keith wasn't his, and this ring wasn't his, and in any event this was something that could never be.

Lance pulled the ring off in disgust. He should get rid of it, destroy it, hurl it into the heart of the nearest star. The why of it being here didn't matter, nor the size, nor the feeling that this was _his_ , that something marked it as belonging to him. It was most likely _Keith's_ wedding ring, kept somewhere safe so that it wouldn't catch on anything when they were fighting, or get lost in the heat of battle. It was just another symbol of Keith's betrayal.

But it was Keith's, and right now that made it more precious than anything else in the Universe.

 _By the Gods, I'm pathetic. He's a_ Ki'ir-ar _for Jhan's sake. Anyway, he doesn't love me; he **can't** love me._ Lance welcomed the sick, oily taste of shame and disgust, held tight to the belief that this was all a one-sided desire. He opened the box again, ready to put the ring away and throw it as hard as he could from the parapet. Or perhaps he'd go to his lion and drop the box into the middle of the volcano, ensuring its utter destruction.

He put the ring back into its satin nest and in the quiet of the dying day, heard the soft crinkle of old paper. Curious, he took the ring out again and pulled out the scrap age yellowed paper that had been tucked in underneath the golden band. The folds were frayed, the result of being opened again and again, and Lance had to unfold it up carefully to make sure the paper didn't tear. But, at last, it lay bare before him, a small strip of paper with just the sentence _'Lance I love you, marry me_ ' written in Keith's neat, blocky print.

For a long moment he didn't recognize the words. Then meaning sunk in and Lance collapsed, the world shattering about him, the depths of his desire finally yawning open before him.

 _Oh Gods, Keith. Why didn’t you tell me this? Why didn’t...why didn’t I know about this? Oh Gods. Keith._ The tears that fell now, the tears that stained the paper, were tears of grief. Grief at all that time wasted, all that time where his stupid assumption had caused them both so much pain. He was filled again with an urge to flee this castle, to flee the planet, to go somewhere where no one had ever heard of the Alliance, or slavery, or the Ki’ir-ar or even Voltron. He wanted to cry. He wanted to kill something. He wanted to die.

He wanted Keith.

He wanted Keith so badly that he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only keen with need. His desire, his need, was so deep, so much a part of who he was. He couldn't hide that now, couldn't pretend that this was just wishful thinking when the fulfillment of his desire stared at him so baldly.

But he couldn’t be with Keith. No matter how deep the need, the idea of breaking the sole commandment of his religion terrified him. Without his faith, he was...nothing. He would be branded a sivana, a betrayer, shunned by everyone he knew, everyone he loved.

 _Sirao, help me._ Lance looked up into the darkening sky, casting his pray away into the vast, speckled sky. _I can't lose Keith again, not now, not that I have hope. I don't think I could live. But he's a Ki'ir-ar, he's taboo. He's everything that I can't have. I need him. I need him so desperately, but I don't want to have him at the cost of my Gods. Please, Sirao, tell me what I should do. I don’t know what your plan is for me. I don’t know which way I should turn. I'm lost in the dark places; be the light that leads me out._

Lance knew that his silent prayer would not be answered. The Gods had more important things to do than look down on one lonely, aching half-breed. Still, the very act warmed him, comforted him, gave him some small strength.

 _It would be nice if Sirao spoke with me, though..._

“Remember, child: Han y’lam Gervan, esa j’har Sai. Do what you believe is right and damn them who say otherwise.”

Lance’s eyes flew open in shock, the soft voice that whispered in his ear frightening him. He knew, without quite knowing how, that his prayer had been answered; that Sirao, his patron God, had himself answered the silent call.

Filled with a new purpose, a new resolve, Lance stood, clutching the ring so tightly that the images on the band imprinted themselves into the flesh of his palm. Keith was going to live, even if Lance had to be burned in his place.

He was going to make everything right.

~~~

Location: Lion’s Mane Inn, Foran St.  
Asal, Lecub.  
Time: 1700 STG

Arai, proprietor of the _Lion’s Mane_ was no stranger to the Voltron Force. As the only source of alcohol within a twenty kiv radius of the Castle of Lions, Arai was ensured of a steady business, catering to the baser needs of the male members of the Force. In the nearly two years that the Force had been on Arus, Arai had been privy to sides of the defenders of his planet that many of his fellow citizens never dreamed existed. He had seen them in joy and anger; alone and together; listened to their woes and their triumphs. And nothing told to him by a drunken pilot was ever repeated. If there were one thing that described Arai perfectly, it was discretion.

Hunk and Sven knew this well, and it was for those reasons -- the discretion just as much as the haze the alcohol would bring -- that the two had been ensconced in the small, private booth for the past two hours. But, there was only so much that the alcohol could do, and as the sweet warmth of the Oak brandy spread through his system, Hunk found his irrational rage fading. In the place of that fury rose shame. Shame at the way he had behaved, shame for the way that he had turned on Keith, letting his personal grievances cloud his mind; shame at the way he had let Sven treat Lance and Pidge, who had done nothing worse than to believe in the wrong man. Even Hunk had felt it hard not to love Keith; twelve years was a long time to hold a grudge, and Keith had always had an inordinate amount of charisma. But he had done the right thing, right? He had followed his orders -- like he had _always_ followed his orders -- and to begin to doubt himself now, doubt what had been drilled into his head for all these years, was ludicrous. Right?

Still...This was Keith, after all, the most fanatical supporter of the Alliance ever born. Even the founders couldn’t have had the same passion that for their creation that he did. Even _HE_ didn’t have that passion, and _HE_ was the embodiment of the Alliance, the face of the Alliance.

Hells, _Hunk_ didn’t have that kind of fanaticism and he had been created by the Alliance, _for_ the Alliance.

 _Maybe I did overreact,_ he mused. _I mean, look at the way Keith reacted. You can’t fake shock like that. Maybe I was too harsh. What’s the point in breaking Keith? He serves_ HIS _purpose better whole._ Hunk glanced at his companion, wondering what Sven was thinking, wondering how much of the truth his friend could be told. Hunk was a little lonely, to tell the truth; he wanted a friend to share his secret, a friend to commiserate with. And it hurt to live a lie, wounded a soul that had been raised to speak only truth. Perhaps, Sven would be the friend who would share his secret, the friend who would understand him.

But could he risk it? Could he compromise his mission, risk _HIS_ wrath all for the selfish desire of human contact? It was dangerous footing at best, but perhaps it could be done, could be risked. Sven wasn’t one to betray the Alliance; perhaps he would understand. Besides, in his current inebriated state, the whole conversation could be passed off as a drunken hallucination. Still, it had to be done carefully; Sven had to be tested, measured to see how strong he was, how much he loved the Alliance. He was one that must be led gently down the path, not pushed or forced, but tricked until the new idea was absorbed completely. To arouse his suspicions would be to arouse his defenses and that would never do. Besides, how better to test Sven’s feelings than to take the opposite side, pretend to be questioning his own beliefs?

“Hey, Sven?” Hunk questioned softly. Sven grunted in reply. “Do you think that maybe...maybe we went over board back there?”

“No,” Sven replied curtly.

“But-”

“No buts. Keith -- it -- is a slave. It is going to be burned like the murdering, law-breaking scum that it is. That is that. And Allura and Pidge are only deluding themselves if they think otherwise.” Sven’s voice was cold and steady, with no evidence of the alcohol that he had just consumed.

“But how can you be so sure? ‘It’ is _Keith_ after all. He can’t be capable of everything that they say he did.”

Sven snorted. “You should read the beast’s psych profile, then. It's capable of anything -- just like an animal. Its fanatical loyalty is legendary. Why do you think it became a Captain so young? Because it is controllable.”

“But...but Sven, if he were a Ki’ir-ar, don’t you think he would have done something, well, Ki’ir-ar-ish? I mean, Allura’s the leader of one of the Original Five. There were so many opportunities for him to kill her and make it look like an accident.”

“You give it too much credit, Hunk. The Ki’ir-ar aren't capable of such intelligent decisions.” Sven paused, hard, black eye focusing piercingly on his drinking companion. “Why these questions, Hunk? Are you going soft on me too?”

Hunk flinched at the scorn in Sven’s voice, hurt even though his questions were all just a sham. “No, no. Nothing like that. I hate the Ki’ir-ar just as much as you do.”

“I doubt that,” Sven chuckled bitterly. “No one can hate the Ki’ir-ar as much as I.”

“Well, how do you know? What was so horrible about what they did to you, huh?”

“They ruined my life. They killed my father; they destroyed my mother. It’s because of them that my parents died. If my father had not died, my mother would not have killed herself. They took everything I loved away from me then, and they did it again today.

“Do you know what it's like to be told that your father, your hero will not be coming home? Do you know what it's like to walk into a room and see your mother’s body hanging from the ceiling?” Sven trembled, the dark memories looming once more in his mind, the image of his mother’s purple face drifting before his eyes once more. “You're the only one left that I love that the Ki’ir-ar have not taken away from me. Do you know what that is like? Until you do, you can't say that you hate the Ki’ir-ar as much as I do.”

Hunk nodded slowly, the soft words stirring an empathic sorrow for his friend that he had thought impossible. An empathic sorrow that he quickly dismissed. He pushed the brandy decanter closer to Sven, and as Sven continued on his path to liver failure, Hunk allowed himself a small smile of victory. Sven was a bitter soul, and bitter souls were always so easy to mold. _HE_ would like this new edition to the purpose; or at least, _HE_ would after Hunk convinced _HIM_ that Sven was a valuable asset. But that wouldn’t be hard at all; Hunk deserved this, after all his years of unwavering dedication, after the blind obedience with which he had served. They _owed_ him. And if he had to be contrite and subordinate and sniveling -- well, so be it. He wanted Sven. And that was all there was to it.

 _And they said I couldn’t act._

The brandy burned his tongue as he took a sip and Hunk welcomed the pain. Pain was good, pain was wonderful, pain was beautiful. But, as he raised his glass in a silent toast to _HIM_ and his purpose, a small, niggling doubt ran through his mind: what if they were wrong?

~~~

Location: Castle of Lions, Fifteenth Floor,  
Communication Room C.  
Time: 1840 STG

Pidge was panting by the time he reached the fifteenth floor, and cursing in every language he knew. He’d been looking for the Princess for two hours and forty minutes, and he wasn’t even halfway done with his search.

“This castle has too many goddamn rooms. What do they need them all for anyway? And why the hell didn’t they install a lift?” Pidge leaned against the cool metal wall of the corridor, waiting for his heart to stop racing and glaring at the newest row of doors to investigate. “Damn it, Allura. Couldn’t you have picked a room closer to the ground floor to run off to?”

Sighing, he straightened and pushed his glasses back up his nose, raked a hand through his chestnut curls. He shivered at the chill caused by his damp undershirt and promised his tired legs that he'd go and take a hot bath soon. Punching in the Castle’s Master Code on the door’s keypad, Pidge prepared himself for another Princess-less room.

“-can’t believe you!” an unseen Allura yelled in rage. "As if it's not bad enough that I had Alliance MPs drag Keith off my planet without so much as a by-your-leave now I've got you camped just outside my borders?"

Pidge froze, eyes widening at the shout. _What the hell?_

“Allura, love, for the last time I'm sorry about the fleet. But you can't expect me to feel too unhappy about Keith leaving. If the MPs hadn't taken him away, _I_ would have done something. He's a murderer, by the Blood! I'm only at your borders because I am _trying_ to protect you!” Lotor replied in an exasperated voice that lacked his normal arrogance.

Pidge sucked in a shocked breath, his normally agile mind stalled. _What’s the Princess doing talking to_ him _? And why does he sound so familiar with her? I thought they were enemies!_

“He's _not_ a murderer. He's still Keith, no matter what anybody says, or what some damn fool scan shows.” Allura sighed in exasperation. "And I need him. If your father finds out that the majority of the Doom fleet is lurking at the Arus border, you know he's going to give the order to invade."

“You're right. I probably should have left some of the fleet behind. It’s just that when I learned what Keith was, I was just so frightened for your safety.” Lotor sighed as well. “I’ll hold off my father for as long as possible.”

“Thank you. Are we still on for tomorrow? Do you think you can get away long enough to meet me?”

“Of course. Wild robeasts couldn’t keep me away. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lotor. Until tomorrow.”

This was just what Pidge's mind needed to reboot. True, the thought of Allura and Lotor as...lovers...was almost enough to make him have a complete mental shutdown, but that confusion could be shunted aside now that a clear and present danger had presented itself. Lotor on Arus? That was an equation with a simple answer. Pidge would worry about the new variables at some later date.

“Allura!” Pidge rushed into the room, waving his laser gun wildly. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to fire at, but just holding the weapon gave him a small modicum of comfort. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you under some kind of spell or something? How can you even _think_ of inviting Lotor here!”

Allura started guiltily, spinning around to face the enraged pilot. “Pidge! I can explain!”

“Oh really. Well, start explaining then.” Pidge folded his arms and glared at Allura. “I’d love to hear it.”

Allura folded her hands and looked down at her lap. “Lotor...Lotor and I have an...agreement of sorts. Well, more than an agreement, really. I...I’m engaged to him -- willingly.”

“Uh huh.”

“When...when Lotor captured me that first time, we, well, we got to talking. Pidge, I felt this...this connection with Lotor that I never felt before. It was just so easy to relate to him. To stop being a Princess and just be Allura. Well, after I got through being pissed at him for being captured that is. And...and after you guys rescued me, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop dreaming about him. So I contacted him. And one thing led to another, and we...well, we eventually got engaged.” Allura smiled slightly, and Pidge determinedly refused to imagine what, exactly, she was smiling about.

“And the fact that he wants to destroy your planet, enslave your people and torture and execute your friends didn’t enter your mind at all? Allura, he’s a bona fide bastard! He’s destroyed hundreds of thousands of planets! Ruined more lives than I can even count!”

“Pidge, he’s not like that! When his father dies and he takes over-”

“What, you’re planning to assassinate Zarkon or something?”

“Maybe. I don’t know! All I know is that he’s promised to end this stupid war! Didn’t you notice how...easy the attacks have been since Lotor took over? And how Arus is finally healing? How most of the recent attacks were on other planets?”

“You bargained for your planet’s safety with the lives of the citizens of other planets?”

“No! Look at how laughably easy Doom’s attacks have become! Look at how low the death count is! You remember what it was like when Doom first attacked, how powerful, how deadly, and merciless they were! Sven almost died back then! Whole villages were wiped out! And look at it now. It takes us what, ten, fifteen minutes to destroy a robeasts now. We’ve gotten better, but we’re not that good, not yet. If my father -- the one person who knew _everything_ there was to about Voltron -- couldn’t stop Doom, what chance do we have? Please Pidge, just trust me on this. He’s not the bad guy here.”

Pidge sighed and grudgingly put his gun away. Allura sagged in relief, a brilliant smile lighting up her face.

“Thank you.”

Pidge snorted, slowly letting go of his anger. “I still don’t trust him farther than I can spit, but you’re the Princess here. So, who else knows about your...situation.”

“Keith.” Allura blushed suddenly. “He...he caught us in an...awkward situation.”

“Eww! I don’t want any details!” Pidge scrunched up his face in disgust and shuddered.

Allura laughed, relieved that Pidge was able to joke about this. The parts of here that weren't blinded by romance were worried about what would happen when their engagement came to light. She was sure Nanny would have a heart-attack; though whether it would be because she was actually marrying a prince like Nanny and Coran wanted, or because of whom the groom was, she wasn’t sure. “So, what did you come up here for, anyway?”

“I was looking for you, actually. Before I just got about five years shaved off my life from _that_ little shock, I was going to tell you that I was on your side. I want to help Keith too.”

“Really? That’s great!” Allura engulfed Pidge in a joyful hug.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s still a hopeless battle, but I’m right by your side, ready to be crucified for being a ‘slave-lover’. Hey, it’s almost...heroic, yeah? I bet we’ll be written down as pioneers in the future. It’ll be an epic, or something. Just the two of us against the combined might of the Alliance.” Pidge squirmed out of her embrace, cheeks red with embarrassment, trying to joke past the sudden tightening of his throat caused by the memory of Sven’s contempt. _And the entire Alliance is like that. I just wish that Hunk were here too._

“Well, we could always claim diplomatic sanctuary on one of the neutral planets. Besides, it’s not that hopeless. I was searching through some of the electronic archives before I came up here, and I found several inconsistencies in the Alliance laws.” Allura smiled encouragingly at Pidge, wanting to raise her small friend’s spirit. “Besides, I’m sure that we aren’t going to be the _only_ people standing up for Keith. With all the inhabitants of the Alliance, there _have_ to be people who feel the same as we do. There just _has_ to be someone who realizes just how...how evil this practice is.”

Pidge sighed and sat down on the step that led to the communication module. “It’s going to be tough Al. We’re going to have to prove that the Ki’ir-ar have sentience. And then there’s that whole messy bit with Keith’s parents. You don’t suppose they’re Ki’ir-ar too?”

“No; otherwise, those MP’s wouldn’t have referred to them as Keith’s ‘Masters’. But, once we prove Keith’s sentience, I don’t think that he’ll be charged with his parent’s crimes. And he _is_ Sentient; he is.”

Pidge nodded. “Hey, Al? Why are you on the side of the Ki’ir-ar, anyway? I thought that Arus was the first planet to ratify the Articles of Slavery.”

“We were, but about two thousand years ago, the Articles were declared void on Arus.”

“Why?”

“Because that was when the first Ki’ir-ar married into the Royal family. Arusians are nothing if not pragmatic.”

Pidge stared at Allura in shock. “You...you’ve got Ki’ir-ar blood in your family line?”

“I have more than just that one Ki’ir-ar in my family tree, Pidge. My grandmother was full Ki’ir-ar.”

“Why? What brought about this...change?”

“Well...It’s a long story. About three thousand years ago, there was a massive revolution on Arus -- the same revolution that caused Pollux to be founded. During the confusion that followed, almost all of the Ki’ir-ar slaves on the planet managed to escape. They fled into the Blue Mountains, and lived there in relative peace for the millennia that followed. The Royal family knew they were up there, but my ancestors were all too busy with the chaos of that millennium to hunt them down; this was one of the darkest times in Arus’ history. Plague, famine, natural disaster, rebellion, the occasional attacks from roving pirates, plus the fall out from the rebel's last desperate attack...a few hundred slaves weren’t important enough to draw their attention away from the troubles that plagued Arus.

“Later, though, when Arus was finally beginning to recover, Prince Sokoru, the only heir to the Arus throne, went out to find out what happened to these escaped slaves. There hadn’t been any enslaved Ki’ir-ar for eighteen hundred standard years -- you know how rare it is for a Ki’ir-ar to be born in captivity. According to contemporary accounts, Sokoru became separated from his party, suffered some sort of grievous accident and was presumed dead by his companions. Luckly, he was found by some Ki’ir-ar and was nursed back to health by them and stayed with them for nearly ten years. He only returned because his father was dying.

“A few weeks after Sokoru inherited the throne, Pollux attacked. The war between the planets lasted for fifteen years, and the only reason Arus wasn’t defeated was because a few months after the war started, three hundred Ki’ir-ar _Aldersine_ appeared in Asal and offered their services.

“When the war was over, Sokoru was so grateful for the Ki’ir-ar’s help that he married Hatashi, the daughter of the Aerie-Leader who sent the _Aldersine,_ appointed two Ki’ir-ar to serve as his advisors, and declared the Ki’ir-ar legal citizens of Arus, and Sentient beings. Unfortunately, that decree is only in effect on Arus.” Allura sighed and shrugged. “Anyway, from that day, the Arusian Royal families have always had many ties to the Ki’ir-ar that live in the Blue Mountains. Some of my bravest ancestors were half Ki’ir-ar. There was even one ruler, Queen Aemai, who was almost full Ki’ir-ar. Wings, fighting spirit, hollow bones, the whole bit.

“So, you see, I _have_ to be on Keith’s side. To allow something like this to happen would be to deny my own heritage.”

Pidge nodded slowly. “Okay. But why haven’t the Arusians used these accounts to challenge the exclusion of Ki’ir-ars from the Rights of Sentience?”

“According to Alliance scientists, the bresav’i -- the local Ki’ir-ar -- aren’t actually Ki’ir-ar. They’ve been classified as an entirely different, sentient race, all because of a couple of mutated genes. The Alliance won’t even consider them the next evolutionary stage of the Ki’ir-ar.” Allura scowled and punched a couple of random keys on her console. “We can’t even legally free the few Ki’ir-ar brought to Arus.”

“So I guess this means we’re going to have to prove that Ki’ir-ar are sentient as well.” Pidge scratched at the fuzz on his chin. “Too bad you don’t have wings. If you did, we could use _you_ as an example of Ki’ir-ar sentience.”

“Wings are a recessive gene. Only full -- or nearly full -- bloods have them. Unless they were cut off, of course, but that sort of thing _never_ happens. Ki’ir-ar usually die within hours after getting their wings have been amputated, they’re that important to them. To deprive a Ki’ir-ar of flight is like taking away their air.“ Allura smiled, a bit grimly. “I’m lucky that the desire to fly is linked to having wings. So, what’s the likely-hood that the others are going to join us?”

Pidge shrugged. “I’m not sure. I know Sven isn’t going to have anything to do with this -- it’d take a minor miracle to even get him to talk to us now. Hunk might come over once he stops being angry, but that’s iffy at best.” Pidge paused, head bowed slightly so he looked up at his friend through the veil of his bangs. “I must say that you’re taking this whole thing very well.”

Allura shrugged, face taking on a mien of serious maturity that Pidge had never seen before. “It’s time to stop playing games. I didn’t want to attempt to take back my planet’s proper place until the war with Doom was completely settled, but I can’t sit idly by when something like this happens. I’m not as young and foolish as I might appear; I think it’s time that everyone knew that.” Allura licked her lips, eying Pidge carefully. When the small mechanic merely smiled knowingly, Allura allowed herself to relax slightly. “Anyway, back to the business at hand. What will Lance do?”

Pidge sighed. “Lance...God, I can’t even begin to guess what Lance is going to do.”

“Why?”

“Oh. Right. You wouldn’t know about them.” Pidge shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable with telling Allura about Keith and Lance. Not that it was a big secret, really; it was just one of those things that everybody knew not to talk about. “Lance and Keith...well, Lance and Keith used to be lovers. Back at the Academy and for a little while after that. They really loved each other; Hunk and I and some of our friends had a pool going on when they’d marry. Five years ago, though, they just sort of fell apart. One day they were together, the next day they were on the opposite ends of the Universe. From what Sven told me, this assignment was the first time they had seen each other since then.

“And now...well Lance was raised as a Yehu-Sama and you know how they feel about the Ki’ir-ar. So, Lance will either join us, join Sven, do nothing, or kill himself. Although I’m pretty sure that the last is highly unlikely.”

“What happened between them? They seemed pretty close to me.”

“I don’t know.” Pidge fidgeted under Allura’s gaze. “They just...Stopped.”


	10. Interlude

_Taken from Great Wars  
By Kersey Khan of New Earth_

_[...] Doom has a long and dark history. Founded in 4008, as a prison planet for the Denubian Galaxy, no planet could possibly be as terrible -- and yet still habitable -- as Doom is. Alternately baked by the Red Sun, or frozen by space, the inhabitants of Doom live primarily underground; an arrangement most noticeable in the abnormally pale skin and oddly colored eyes. It is believed that the yellow pigmentation acts in a fashion similar to that of the feline eyes, granting the ability to see in both broad daylight and the blackest night. Though its use as a prison planet ended in 5080, the inhabitants of Doom continued to eke out a miserable existence on their barren planet. The assorted criminals, in order to maintain both their sanity and their lives, formed a highly structured and ordered culture, obeying the same laws that they disregarded as freemen._

 _Doom did not become a kingdom until the ascension of King Terak in 6487. Originally, an exiled prince from the Drule empire -- who was driven from his home planet for speaking out against his father’s greedy ways -- Terak and his followers turned the hellish prison planet into one that symbolized hope and honor for the entire galaxy. In the second decade of his reign, Terak joined the Alliance and established his planet as one that upheld the ideals of the Alliance. He formed close ties with Arus, and during his reign, created three treaties and a Pact of Friendship. This first kingdom is commonly referred to as the Golden Age, and Terak’s successor, his eldest son Mystlav, upheld the grand traditions of his father._

 _However, it is with Mystlav’s youngest son that the Dark Age of Doom truly begins. This son, known then as Demaitar, is often compared to his great-grandfather in terms of cruelty and greed. Indeed, the similarity is so great that Demaitar took his great-grandfather’s Second Name -- Zarkon -- with his ascension into power in 6782 at the age of sixty-four -- the equivalent of twenty-three human years. Zarkon, who murdered both his father, and his four brothers, cemented his hold on the Doom crown by his marriage to the Princess Kyano -- mother to Prince Lotor -- of planet J’hor, the oldest ally of the Drule Empire. Zarkon then began his quiet amassing of a mighty military. In 6790 at the beginning of the third Lykon Invasion, Zarkon defected from the Alliance and began his takeovers of non-Allied planets. The Alliance, far too busy with driving off the Lykon to assist these planets, found themselves faced with a war on two fronts -- the Lykon invaders and Zarkon’s massive army of clones and metal._


	11. Chapter 11

Date: June 1, 6861 A.U.  
Location: Khal Hall, rm 105, Cogdah Academy  
Fransicso City, Epsilon county  
Selene, Priman Quadrant  
Time: 1700 STG

Lance smiled cheekily at the glaring Sergeant McAlster. This was his second visit to the Detention Block today, and the Sergeant wasn’t pleased.

“Hiya, Sarge.”

“You again. I swear by Jenova -- you are a scourge upon this Academy. Tell me, Mr. Tiazone, is it too much to ask that you limit your visits to _one_ per day?” McAlster’s blue eyes were hard as he stared at Lance over his wire-rimmed glasses.

Lance pretended to think. “Yeah.”

Sergeant McAlster sighed and waved him to a seat, though Lance was the only student in the Detention room. “Then go do whatever work you haven’t finished yet.”

Lance sauntered over to his favorite spot, right next to the window, and casually sat. Not ten days at Cogdah and he already had a reputation as a troublemaker. Not bad, not bad at all. It had taken him five months back at Lian on Algeron.

 _Lance Tiazone, Scourge of Cogdah. That has a certain ring to it._

“Mr. Tiazone, why exactly have you decided to grace the Detention Block with your presence this time.”

 _Because I have a major crush on you and getting sent to detention is the best way I could see you?_ Lance grinned at the thought. _Wonder what he’d do if I said that?_

“Well, Mr. Tiazone?”

 _Oh. Right. I need to answer. What did I do this time?_ Lance mentally searched for the most recent offense. _Something about insubordination, I think...Or was that yesterday?_

“Talked back to Corporal Clen’an, Sarge,” he finally replied, hazarding what would be the most likely of his many offenses. McAlster sighed and rubbed his head.

“Lance, I know that you don’t get along with Corporal Clen’an, but this is the fifth time you’ve been in here because you ‘disagreed’ with her.” The officer frowned at the boy. “You’re obviously got the potential to be an officer -- and a damn good one or else you wouldn’t be here -- but you need to learn some common sense. The schooling term hasn’t even started yet, and you’ve already been in detention fifteen times!”

“I _have_ common sense,” Lance protested. “It’s just not like everyone _else’s_ common sense.”

“Herr-McAlster, var hennifram aterfinna-” Sven called out in his native Swedish as he rushed into the room, his normally composed face flushed and gleaming. There was a tangible aura of excitement to him.

“In Basic, cadet! Basic!” McAlster barked, interrupting Sven’s words.

“Fortat, Herr -- I mean, pardon, Sergeant. But, I am just here to pick up Lance. The Dean has given me permission to release him from Detention.” Sven handed the sergeant the letter from the Dean, shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

“All right, cadet. You and Mr. Tiazone are dismissed. And _try_ to keep him from getting into any more trouble, okay?”

“Yes, Sir. Come on, Lance.” Sven grabbed his friend’s arm and hauled the smaller, thinner boy up from his seat, dragging him out the door. Once outside, Lance wrenched his arm from Sven’s grasp and punched his friend on the shoulder.

“What the hell did you go and do that for? I was actually getting somewhere!”

“Lance, the only place you were going was in your mind,” Sven replied with a laugh. His eyes were too bright, and his words were choppy and fast. The excitement that marked his movements made his already accent tinged Basic even worse, the syntax twisting and turning on itself and his accent becoming even more prominent. It was...interesting to see the normally stoic Sven displaying such emotion. “Just be glad that I came for you at all. The others, they want me to just leave you, but I tell them, ‘Lance is min ven’. And I do not abandon my friends. Is very exciting, ja?”

“What is? Where are we going? Sven, what the hell is going on? And could you talk a bit slower? I can’t understand a single word you’re saying!” Lance suddenly stopped, forcing Sven to halt as well. “You’re not going to make me sing, are you?”

“Lance, I wouldn’t subject your singing on a deaf person. But. I just thought that maybe you would like to be rescued from Detention and participate in the Opening Ceremony like everybody else. Besides, I thought that you might want to know that Nanaki was accepted.” Sven paused and smirked, a little. “And Bram.”

“Bram?” Lance blanched. “Oh shit.”

“Bram being here. This is a bad thing?” Sven had stopped smirking and was starting to frown. “I thought you had a, what is the word. A crush?”

“Well, yeah, I did, and then at the end of last year’s term I told him and we kinda did stuff and, uh...” Lance looked down at his feet. “Well. Let’s just say that some guys just aren’t ready for that.”

“Oh Lance.” Sven sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Not again. I swear you get in more trouble than even the devil could supply. You can’t avoid Bram forever, you know.” He grabbed Lance’s arm pulling him on down the corridor. Lance dragged his heels and Sven stopped again. He crossed his arms and glared at Lance. “Fine. Be like that. I am going to go rehearse.” Sven turned sharply and stalked off, before turning back once more and grabbing Lance’s arm again, pulling Lance roughly along. “If you weren’t my friend...This is one of the most important dates in of the term! And if you make me miss it because I’m hiding your sorry behind, I will personally kick you back to Earth.”

“Thanks, Sven. You’re the best friend a guy could have.”

Lance grinned, a little in relief, and tuned out Sven’s lecture about not going after obviously straight boys here at the Academy, as this was a small moon and he’d run out of places to hide very quickly. He decided to concentrate on Sven’s ass instead, and the reasons why they’d never gotten involved. Mostly because he’d known Sven since the third Form and if he ever messed things up with Sven there’d be no one to stow him away in a closet, distract the wronged party, and then soundly curse him in Swedish. Besides, Sven was probably as straight as Bram had claimed to be. _If I knew I could make this work, though...man, I’d be on him faster than he could say “ravish me now.”_ Lance smiled a bit at the thought and snuck a secretive look at Sven.

Then he saw _him_.

He was beautiful. No, beyond beautiful. He was a God. Lance stared him, beyond awe, beyond amazement. He was enchanted, enthralled by this black haired angel, this beautiful, dazzling person who had suddenly entered his life. Despite the wan expression on his face, the dark circles that ringed haunted black eyes, the bandages that wrapped his hands, covering flesh so pale that the white cloth was almost indistinguishable from the skin, this boy was absolute perfection. His beauty seared Lance’s mind, burning the image of this avatar, this God-like boy, into his heart.

“By Samas...” Lance whispered.

“Lance, are you paying attention?” Sven’s question sounded harsh and out of place with the perfection that walked Cogdah’s corridors. Lance whirled on his friend, wanting to hit him for destroying the beauty with his words, yet desperate for some proof that the image before him was real.

“Sven, who _is_ that?”

Sven peered over at the object of Lance’s attention, taking in the bandaged boy and the somewhat shorter, older man walking beside him. “General Onaa Tsumetai, Military Advisor of Japan. Why?”

Lance sighed. “Not him, you idiot! The angel beside him!”

“What angel? The boy?” Lance nodded almost maniacally, hope in his eyes at the idea that someone might know the name of this angel.

“That is Keith, the General’s son. He is in our age group. I heard that he was a late transfer; he was in the Land Forces for a little while, and is only transferring because he got injured while on a training mission. Now come, Lance. I will _not_ be late.” Sven increased his pace, pulling his friend along. Lance followed blindly, twisting backwards to keep this fallen angel in sight for as long as he could.

 _Keith Tsumetai._ Lance burned the name into his heart, into his mind. _I'll find you. My angel._

~~~

Date: September 10, 6861 A.U  
Location: Baegan Hall, rm. 212  
Time: 1015 STG

Lance was not happy. He was, in fact, quite put out and a little scared. He’d had crushes before, of course, he _was_ 16, and half Balthosian and thus could control neither his hormones nor his overly sappy emotions; but he’d never had one that lasted this long. His M.O. was to be thoroughly infatuated by a handsome young man for a few weeks -- a month at the most -- and then move on to some other boy, and repeat the pattern until he’d run out of eligible boys and had to kill himself or switch to women. He _wasn’t_ supposed to become obsessed over one boy; it just wasn’t in his personality. He _was_ flighty, and he _was_ afraid of commitment and he _was_ a playboy who could never be satisfied with a single partner. Especially with one like Keith, who was shy and introverted and never wanted to talk about anything other than Old Earth literature and schoolwork, which meant that Lance had nothing to talk about because all he cared about was flight and sex and living a life that Sirao would envy. He and Keith tended to have a lot of long, uncomfortable silence followed by his inane babbling; and they wouldn’t have had even those if the Powers That Be hadn’t decided that his life wasn’t painful enough so they’d made Keith his roommate. He was just glad they’d put Sven in there too, because Lance wasn’t sure how long he’d have lasted if it’d just been the two of them; probably not very long at all, because he was pretty sure Keith could kill him with a pen. He was also sure that it was only Sven’s presence that kept Keith from cutting his tongue out with a letter opener.

Which was just further proof that Keith was all wrong for him. Lance liked the arrogant ones, the ones that put on airs and a swaggering, manly front, the ones that talked tough and tried to out fly him because boys like that were usually very pliant in the bed, begging to be directed, to be led. In Lance’s experience, the bossier the boy was in the pilot’s chair, the more likely he was to want to obey once Lance had him naked and hard. He doubted that Keith would be likely to obey him wherever they were. Not that he knew what Keith was like in the air; Keith didn’t go to the Sims and fly like every other Fresher in the Academy.

Which was what Lance was supposed to be doing right now, but he was so far gone with his obsession over Keith that he couldn’t even find solace and forgetfulness in flying; not that he wasn’t kicking some serious simulated ass, but still. He shouldn’t even be on this level; he should be facing some of the Upperclassmen, or participating in one of the advanced training Sims, making the other Freshers jealous and pissing off the Upperclassmen. Because he was _good._ No, not just good, he was _Good_ , with the capital G. Even if he’d been as self-deprecating as his brothers, he would have known that he was a good pilot; that he truly belonged in the skies. Though looking at the results of his last two trails, he wasn’t so sure about that fact.

Lance was thinking of quitting and letting someone who might actually benefit take a turn. But then a klaxon sounded when Lance checked his panel, he saw that some punk had tagged him. He dropped, rolled, entered the atmosphere and this guy must have been an Upperclassman, or an advanced computer generated A.I., because he was still on Lance’s tail. And he’d picked up a friend.

Lance growled, annoyed. _I don’t feel like playing today_.

Lance rolled again, and the two missiles that would have booted him unceremoniously from the mission flew harmlessly past. There was a puff of distant dust as the missiles detonated somewhere on the planet’s surface and Lance suddenly had an idea.

He cued up the planet’s topographical maps, rolled his eyes when he saw that they were of the Earth That Was. When, in life, was he _ever_ going to use this information? On the other hand, he’d done enough Earth Prime sims to know the topographical features by heart. With luck, his two ‘friends’ wouldn’t be quite so familiar; though that may have been a vain hope since Earth Prime was the default planet setting for all the missions.

Swooping lower, until his fighter left wake trails in the blue waters, Lance headed for the American continent. It didn’t take long for him to find the mountains, jagged and bunched close together, their tops shrouded by clouds. He wove his way around them, darting through narrow passes and zooming low to skim the deep tarns. The two enemy crafts followed close behind, just waiting for him to stay still long enough to get a shot in. Lance grinned and headed into a wide, dark gap, rolling onto his side and dropping down until the tip of his wing brushed the tops of the stunted trees that grew in the valley. He stared up through the cockpit’s clear ceiling, waited for the two to pass him before pulling his craft up and following their wake trails. He revved the engine, dropped the spare fuel cell, detonated it, and looped away. One of the crafts managed to pull away, steadily riding the waves of the explosion; the other wasn’t so lucky and disappeared in a bright explosion.

Lance grimaced. One gone, but he didn’t want to have to play cat-and-mouse with the other. He sighted, locked onto the craft, deployed his missiles. They sped forward, straight and true, and if the other pilot hadn’t cut his engines and let gravity draw him down, they would have detonated. Lance raised his eyebrows, surprised; it was rare to find another pilot who’d practiced planet-side flight.

No matter. This ass wasn’t going to bring him down. He let loose another pair of missiles, probing, testing, easily dodging the enemy’s missiles. His shots were dodged again, but Lance had expected that and he was beginning to sense a pattern. He loosed another missile and -- yes. Just as he’d thought; by the book tactics. It was an advanced book, but it was still a book and books were easy to beat. He let his last set of missiles go, pulled up his guns and tagged the enemy as the other pilot looped up. It was a direct shot to the fuselage; the enemy craft plummeted to earth, trailing smoke and Lance grinned.

He was still grinning when something shook his craft and his instruments went wild.

 _What the -- ?_ Lance grunted as the Sim threw him about, scanned the readouts. Something had hit him and it didn’t take him long to realize that he’d been too arrogant in his dealings with the enemy. The bastard had managed to get one final salvo out before crashing. If Lance had actually been paying attention, he’d have known the fool would do something like that; the By-the-Bookers generally did.

The damage wasn’t too bad; a glancing blow but it was enough to force him to land and the bad mood that had been rumbling before he’d gotten into this flight was a full-fledged storm. Most of his anger was directed at himself, but there was enough left over to be pissed off at being grounded by a Booker with no imagination. He pulled off the Sim’s helmet and gloves and was out of the module before his simulated craft had landed. He blinked in the bright lights of the Sim room and watched the Board to find the serial of the Sim that’d tagged him. Sven was already there, cursing in Swedish; Lance thought he caught his name somewhere in there.

“You’re good,” Keith said behind him and Lance jumped.

“What?”

“I thought you were all talk but. You’re good.” Keith shrugged and raked his fingers through his sweat-darkened hair. He was grinning, which Lance assumed was a good sign, especially since it wasn’t his normal ‘fuck off’ smile.

“Ahh.” Lance looked away, blushing a little, disgusted with the way his tongue suddenly seemed six times too big for his mouth and tied itself in knots. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more -- that Keith was here, or that he’d figured out which craft was Lance’s. “Uh.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to detonate a fuel cell. Next time I’ll be more careful; and I’ll do more than ground you.”

“You?” Lance said, surprise burning away his embarrassment. “ _You_ tagged me?”

“Surprised?” Keith was smirking, a little, and Lance found that maybe he’d have to revise his opinion about Keith; maybe Keith _would_ let himself be led.

“No.” Lance snorted. “Figures it’d be you with the way my luck is going.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and slouched. “But don’t expect it to be that easy next time. I was distracted today.”

“Oh? By what?” Keith raised a brow and if Lance hadn’t known better he would have thought Keith was flirting. But that couldn’t be, it was probably just desperate wishing on Lance’s part. So he changed the subject instead.

“I didn’t know you used the Sims. I mean. I never see you here.”

“I have to log the required training time like everybody else.” Keith looked away, the corners of his mouth turning down in a tiny grimace. “I just. I feel like flying should be...different.”

“Yeah, well, piloting a Sim isn’t like flying a real ship,” Lance said, with all the arrogance of borrowed experience. According to his brothers, the Sims were as much like real ships as a Vid was to the book it was based on. “They’re slower.”

“No it’s not that. It’s...” Keith trailed off, his eyes distant, the shook himself, coming back to the here and now. “Never mind.” He looked Lance in the eye and there was friendship in them. A strange sensation twisted Lance’s belly -- it wasn’t quite hope, but something close. “Anytime you want a rematch, just tell me.”

“I’d like that,” Lance said. “I’d like that a lot.”

~~~

Date: October 31, 6861 A.U.  
Location: Cogdah Academy, Scuro Gardens.  
Time: 2457 STG.

Lance spun and spun and spun until he couldn’t stand and fell, giggling, to the soft grass. He was very drunk and enjoying himself and he didn’t even care that he was naked and wet and so was Keith. Well, okay, he cared a little but not enough to be embarrassed or anxious or have those annoying, twisting, nervous flutters in his belly that he normally got around Keith. He was warm and the planet-light was nice and the alcohol from the wine he’d purloined from the Officer’s mess had made his lips and fingers tingle. And he was happy.

And why shouldn’t he be? He had his wine, his skinny-dipping -- and who would have thought that _Keith_ of all people would have suggested this little activity -- and the run of the station, more or less, since most of the Academy had gone planet-side for their fall break. Plus, and this was what made him break out into a manic grin, he’d decided that today was the day that he got over Keith. His crush was pointless and keeping him from experiencing the joys of teenage lust that were rightfully his. And anyway, Keith was being friendly now and Lance didn’t want to lose that. Better to take what he could get and run.

Yes, best to kill the hope that friendship might become more. That way led only to madness and bad poetry and Lance was not going to be that guy. Besides, Keith was so...well, he was just too much work, Lance decided. He kept things too close to his chest, kept everyone at arms length from his thoughts and feelings. Which probably meant that he’d be an excellent leader, but that wasn’t very helpful to Lance.

He frowned and pushed those thoughts away. Dwelling on Keith’s guarded attitude was just bringing him down and he wasn’t going to be sad and mope tonight.

Not when he was mellow and boneless and naked in the artificial moonlight of the base.

 _I should steal from the Officer’s Mess more often._ The thought raised a mad giggle and he rolled onto his back to stare up at the false sky.

“Red red wine,” he sang and his voice seemed to shatter the night.

“What was that?” Keith was still in the lake, floating on the ebony water, watching the frozen stars.

“An old song. It’s nothing.”

It was nice to be able to talk with Keith. It was nice to know that the subtle hints that Lance thought he was finally finding in Keith’s movements, in his face and voice, were not just illusions. But though that small token of companionship had managed to sustain Lance’s hope for a while, he needed more. He needed to know where he stood, needed to know if a casual friendship, was all that was ever to be between them. For there seemed to be something in Keith that demanded more. It was a secret demand, one that Lance would have never been able to explain, but, every instinct in his body screamed that it was there; every last ounce of intuition firmly believed that Keith wanted the same thing he did -- that there was a firm possibility for more. In a way he was sort of glad that neither of them had been able to go home for the Fall Break. Their week alone would tell what was to happen between them.

That had been one of the reasons Lance invited Keith on his first drinking binge -- beyond a need to dull the sheer loneliness that threatened to overwhelm his soul. Yet, never in his wildest dreams had Lance imagined the power held in just a little wine.

 _Who would have ever thought that behind that calm exterior there lies the heart of a rogue?_ I _would have never had the guts to suggest going skinny-dipping here._ Lance began to giggle, imagining the officers' reaction if the two of them were discovered. Before the small laugh could become hysterical, he cut himself off, reaching for the wine bottle and draining the last of the thick, darkly fruity liquid in one long swallow. The garden became suddenly brighter, sharper. The splash of water drew his attention to Keith; the other boy was slogging his way out of the lake in all of his naked, pale, glory. The blue planet-light highlighted each gleaming curve, blessed each droplet of water with a sparkling brilliance. Muscles tensed and released as cream-colored skin forced its way back to land. Black eyes sparkled, raven hair tangled and lay flat against smoothly muscled young flesh. He was so open, now. Wonderfully open and honest in his movements, in his graceful, mesmerizing strides.

The strict hold that Keith had kept on himself was gone, now, and Lance relished the chance to read him, to read his secret thoughts through the movements of his body. Too long had Keith been closed to Lance, too long had the young half-breed been forced to question what his enhanced skills -- his enhanced senses which read those around him as they would read words upon paper -- told him. And what he read thrilled him, sent the other-worldly passion that had sung a weaving, mesmerizing song through the night surging in a new crescendo. Lance rolled over to hide how much the unheard melody affected him.

Keith sighed and flopped down on the grass, shedding the crystalline water in a gentle shower. His voice solemn, he soberly intoned, “ _That which we are, we are,/ One equal temper of heroic hearts._ ”

Lance lay and listened to the golden voice, closing his eyes in pleasure as he let the words rush over him, opening his eyes again only when Keith’s voice faded. A pensive silence descended, Keith’s eyes brooding, Lance’s eyes glazed between pleasure and thought. Then Keith shook himself, and lay back against the grass, eyes going up to the cold stars and empty space.

“Any wine left?” Keith’s words were sluggish, sultry in their slurred and indistinct fashion. The wine had hit the Asian hard, though his share had been much smaller. His first sip had sent a wave of red through his body, staining his skin in rosy hues.

  
“Nope. Just finished it.” Lance closed his eyes again, the warmth of Keith’s body slowly spreading over his own. It felt like a sunbath, like the golden days on Tyrs’ai when the sun warmed granite rocks, and the blue sky was marred by scattered cloud puffs; those were the days when no work was done, when the entire planet seemed to declare a vacation and basking, baking, browning forms appeared on every rooftop, on every rock and flat surfaces. Those were the fond days of childhood -- lazy days spent running naked through the surf, tussling and shouting and sending cobalt sprays sparkling through the air before collapsing, worn, on sandy shoals.

“Damn,” Keith sighed in his ear, sending shivers of pleasure spreading through his nerves. “Looks like I’ll have to go for something better.” Then calloused hands gripped his face, pulling him gently to his knees. Soft lips touched his; a warm tongue demanded entrance. Surprised, confused, Lance let the intruder in, tasted mint and wine -- and under that, a bite; sharp, clean, wild, savage, _free_. Above all things, free.

And behind the bite, behind the taste, lay something else. Feelings, _needs_ , ran through his brain, demanding to be seen, demanding to be felt. Emotion more beautiful, more fiery than the kiss, than the hands and passion that surged within.

Then suddenly, there was nothing. The exploring hands moved away, the needy lips left, the amazing, heavenly taste -- it all disappeared. Crying out in disappointment, Lance looked up, reached a hand out to Keith.

“No. Not here. We’re too exposed,” Keith panted, the need evident within him. “Not here, not where everyone can see us.”

“Back to the room?” Lance asked.

Keith nodded and the two gathered their clothes, snatched up the glass bottle, and ran laughing, teasing, back to their room. Planet-light gleamed on taut skin, wove through wild strands of hair, lit eyes that sparked too bright. The two danced to their room, the need demanding relief, but the night’s spell demanding a joyful release. The moon’s strange power of water pulled at the blood within their veins, cast it in two different directions, boiled it and toyed with it.

Then they were in the room, in the darkness and suddenly Keith was shy, blushing in the gloom, unsure of what to do. Lance cautiously approached, not wanting to scare Keith, not wanting to frighten his angel. Gently, worshipfully, Lance took Keith’s hand, pushed him to the bed. He laid him carefully down, kissing, caressing, tasting every inch of the clean skin, nipping at the creamy flesh. Keith moaned in pleasure, insistent hands pulling Lance down beside him, tangling in the chestnut locks. Lance moved up Keith’s body, tenderly kissing the moaning lips, nuzzling, suckling the arched neck. Keith’s hands ran over Lance’s back, grasping and clutching and stroking in response to the administrations of his friend. Something deep within Lance burst, blooming in a golden flower, melting, merging, gathering two souls together, forging into one until thoughts ran together and Lance couldn’t tell what was his, and what was Keith’s.

He drowned in the sensations – the smoothness of Keith's skin, the sharp musky smell of his body, the way his voice rasped, rough as a cat's tongue, against the hollow of Lance's chest. One of them – he couldn't tell who – whimpered, begged for some incoherent thing, a need lost in the warm wetness of Keith's mouth. Pleasure – pleasure so intense as to ride the edge of pain – grew within him in cresting waves, each retreat leaving him gasping for air; each new surge making him feel like he was drowning.

Lance wanted it to never end and wanted an end right now because he couldn't take anymore. His body was flayed open, jangling, screaming in ecstatic agony and when he finally came – grunting and gasping and thrusting madly against the slick warmth of Keith's inner thigh – his vision went white, then gray, then black at the edges. His ears rang with his pounding heart and he whimpered, a little sound of keen loss, as his senses came back to something closer to normal and his skin no longer sang with even the lightest of Keith's touches.

As quickly as it was started, the passion was spent. Tired, mellowed, no longer controlled by the irresistible moon, the two lay in the bed. Lance nuzzled Keith’s neck, pressing light kisses on the sweaty flesh, murmuring soft words in a perfect ear. Secure in thought, in emotion, in belief, he let fatigue slip over him. His eyes closed, his heart slowed and breath deepened. Then sleep claimed him and into the nonsense world of dreams he fell.

But in the darkness, Keith lay wakeful, plagued by doubts. Though his own mind was clear, his desires and wants known by his entire being -- been known by his entire being since the first time that he saw Lance -- he feared how much Lance desired him.

 _In vino veratis. But, how much is truth, and how much just the passion of moon and vine? Can I live with myself tomorrow, knowing what I’ve done tonight? O Kami, what have I done? What have I done!_

Troubled, arms unconsciously clutching Lance tighter to him, Keith continued to stare, and think, and worry through the night.


	12. Interlude

**_Ulysses_ **   
_By Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809-1892_

  
_It little profits an idle king,  
By this still hearth, among these barren crags  
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole  
Unequal law unto a savage race  
That horde, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.  
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink  
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed  
Greatly, have suffered greatly, Both with those  
That loved me and alone; on shore and when  
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades  
Vex the dim sea. I am become a name;  
For always roaming with a hungry heart  
Much have I seen and known-cities of men  
And manners, climates, councils, governments,  
Myself not least, but honored of them all,-  
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,  
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.  
I am a part of all that I have met;  
Yet all experience is an arch where through  
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades  
For ever and for ever when I move.  
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,  
To rust unburnished, not shine in use!  
As though to breath were life! Life piled on life  
Were all to little, and of one to me  
Little remains; but every hour is saved  
Form that eternal silence, something more,  
A bringer of new things; and vile it were  
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,  
And this grey spirit yearning in desire  
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,  
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.  
This is my son, mine own Telemachus  
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle,  
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill  
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild  
A rugged people, and through soft degrees  
Subdue them to the useful and the good.  
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere  
Of common duties, decent not to fail  
In the offices of tenderness, and pay  
Meet adoration to my household gods,  
When I am gone. He works his work I mine.  
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;  
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,  
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me,  
That ever with a frolic welcome took  
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed  
Free hearts, free foreheads -- you and I are old;  
Old age hat yet his honor and his toil.  
Death closes all; but something ere the end,  
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,  
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.  
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;  
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep  
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,  
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.  
Push off, and sitting well in order smite  
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds  
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths  
Of all the western stars, until I die.  
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;  
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,  
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew  
Though much is taken, much abides; and though  
We are not now the strength that which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield._   



	13. Chapter 13

Date: October 26, 6861 A.U.  
Location: Tudor Residency Hall, rm. 113.  
Cogdah Academy, Fransisco City, Epsilon quarter.  
Selene, Priman Quadrant.  
Time: 0920 STG

When Lance awoke, the first thing he did was burrow further into his bedding. It was pure instinct, done every morning no matter what faced him. Reality was no match for his dreams, and it was his dreams that carried Lance through life. His thoughts muzzy, Lance stretched and rolled over, burying his head in the still warm pillow beside him, loving the smell that lingered on the cloth covering, the smell of apples and mountain air. They smelled of Keith and right now, that smell was heaven to Lance.

 _Mmm. He smells good. Like the windy steppes of Tyrs’ai...I wonder where he is._

Blinking his sleepy chocolate brown eyes, Lance slowly emerged from his cocoon of blankets and sheets. Tousled hair and fuzzy expression cast an air of innocent vulnerability to him, a beautiful fragileness that begged to be held. That vulnerability faded into an irritated scowl as Lance scanned the room for his dark-haired companion.

 _Where the hell is he?_ Faint retching noises answered the thought, and Lance sighed as he pulled himself out of bed. _Looks as though Keith can’t hold his alcohol._ Padding on soft feet, he made his way to the bathroom, the barest hint of a smirk on his face. Touching the door with a lazy gesture, Lance entered the room, wrinkling his nose at the smell of sweat and vomit that radiated from the tiles. A trembling, gleaming form huddled over the toilet, body spasamming in undulating waves, and Lance felt his heart twinge in an echoed pain for the boy.

“Keith? You okay?” He crouched down beside the retching boy and stroked the trembling back in an attempt to comfort.

Keith jumped away and looked up, his normally closed and unreadable face now open. Fear, anger, grief, guilt, loathing, regret...they all twisted his face, marred the perfect form. And all were directed toward Lance, directed at him with such an intensity that Lance had to take a step back, had to falter under the weight of the emotions.

 _Keith...why are you so afraid? Why do you think that what we did was so bad?_ Black rage -- rage at the one to whom he had bared his soul -- rose in Lance, rose as he knew what Keith was about to do, read it plainly in his posture, in his face.

“L-lance? I, uh, I need to talk to you about last night.” Keith suddenly looked down, eyes directed at his trembling hands. “It...it was a mistake. I never should have...The wine. If I hadn’t drunk so much wine, I would have been able to control-”

“To control what? Your hormones? Your desires?” Lance’s face twisted into a bitter, mocking smile. “Your emotions?”

“Y-yes. I mean, no. I...I was thinking about what...about what happened last night. And, well, I-I think that what we did was wrong. Unnatural.” Keith looked up, voice firm and filled with conviction. But, his eyes were lying, confused and uncertain, filled with sadness and resignation. “It was all just...just the culmination of-of being in a new place, and not being able to, uh,” Keith blushed suddenly, skin turning a dusky red, “score with any of the females, and, I’m sorry I made you think that last night was well, anything more than just, um, relief. It’s just, well, I don’t -- I _can’t_ be with you. It...well, it’s just not something that was going to happen. And I’m sure that if I, if I was in full possession of my, of my facilities, and not, well, drunk out of my head, this never would have happened.” Keith looked down again, his voice trembling -- though barely so -- with a mourning grief. “Never would have happened at all. And that’s the way it should be. That’s the way it _must_ be.”

“You bastard!” A hand reached out on its own volition, slapping Keith’s cheek with a hard, sharp blow, sending the other boy sprawling onto the floor. An angry impression stood out against the pale flesh, blazing brightly as blood rushed to the abused area. Keith raised a shaking hand moved up to touch the wounded cheek. “There is no way I’m going to believe that what happened last night was just because you were drunk, and you needed a quick lay. There were two of us there last night! And I _know_ that I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed what we did! _I_ wasn’t the one who started it!”

“Lance-”

“Shut up! You listen to me you coward! I don’t care if what happened goes against your entire moral code, but there is no way in hell that I’m just going to let you walk away from last night. I deserve more than that, damn it! You’ve been taunting me, tempting me ever since we became roommates, and I’m fucking tired of having to keep my feelings to myself to protect _your_ feelings. Well, I’m not going to do that anymore. I _refuse_ to believe that what you told me last night was just some wine induced sentimentality, that you didn’t mean _any_ of it. Because I _damn well_ meant everything that I said to you! Everything!”

“Lance-” Keith stood, eyes imploring, begging him to stop, to be quiet.

“I’m not done yet, you bastard! You’re going to sit there and _listen_ to me! Because I’ve been trying to tell you for _months_ that I like you, and I’ll be damned if you haven’t been doing the same thing to me! And you _never_ did anything to stop me. _Never_. And if you think that I’m going to let you just go back to the way it was before, if you think that I’m just going to pretend that last night never happened, well you are sadly mistaken. Because I _can’t_ do that anymore. I can’t just swallow what I feel and pretend as though you never touched me, never kissed me, never told me how much you wanted me, needed me! So you’re going to sit there, and you’re not going to say _one_ fucking word until-”

“Too bad! You’re just going to have to! I have _honor_ damn it, and I will _not_ let you sully it with a perversion like...like _this_. So, for both our sakes, for the sake of a friendship, just let it be!”

“Fuck that!” Moving faster than he thought he could, Lance reached out, grabbed double handfuls of black mane and pressed his lips against Keith’s, pouring everything he felt, everything he desired into that kiss. For a long moment, Keith struggled against him, and Lance feared that he had been mistaken, that last night truly _was_ a drunken mistake. Then Keith suddenly relaxed, melding himself to Lance, suddenly boneless body pressing, draping itself on Lance, the hot, hard heat of Keith’s unexpected erection pulsing between them. Feeling suddenly vindictive, Lance pulled away, panting, struggling to resist the urge to go further, to repeat the pleasures of the night before.

“Lance,” Keith moaned, stepping forward, eyes glazed with lust and need.

“No way. You said you’d never do anything like ‘that’,” Lance sneered, rage goading him onward, urging him to hurt Keith, to hurt him just as he had been hurt, “if you weren’t drunk. Well, it looks to me like you want to do ‘that’, and there’s no wine to hide behind now. So what do you have to say to that, huh? What does the army brat have to say about that?”

“Lance, please...don’t do this...please don’t...you don’t know what you’re asking of me.” Keith struggled to get his body under control, to push back the lust and need and hide once more behind his long perfected mask. “I can’t be...Please...I can’t...O Kami, what’s wrong with me?!”

“What’s wrong with you? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you! You’re trying to deny yourself, that’s what’s wrong! You’re fucking yourself over because you’ve got some stupid bias, or grudge, or something, because you can’t possibly think that, maybe, passion doesn’t give a flying fuck about what gender you’re attracted to. Gods know that I think that what we did was probably the stupidest thing in the world -- given my druthers, I’d have gone about this thing with a little more subtlety -- but I _meant_ every last word that I said to you. Sirao, Keith, do you have _any_ idea what you do to me? Do you know that I’ve been watching you since I came here, that I’ve been _wanting_ you since I came here?”

“I know.” Keith sighed, eyes down, a tenuous control established over his rebellious body. “But, Lance, we _can’t_. Please, try to understand that. Kami knows I would like to. I want to touch you so much, to hold you and taste you and I want you so badly. So badly that I can’t stand it. I can’t stand to be near you and I can’t stand not to be near you...Lance you, you do things to me that...that I can barely withstand...but, but it can’t happen, damn it!”

“You want me? You want me and you _still_ call this unnatural? Samas All-fucking-Father! Why the hell didn’t you do anything? It’s not like I was about to say ‘oh, sorry, no thanks’. Do you know just how ready I was to jump you? Why didn’t you _do_ anything?”

“Because I couldn’t! I just couldn’t, okay!” Keith gestured violently, turning away from Lance in a sudden explosive move. But, Lance wasn’t satisfied with so vague an answer, not when undeniable desire sang through his soul, not when he remembered the euphoria of the night.

“Hah! It’s not that hard! At least _you_ knew that your advances were going to be returned! All _I_ knew was that _sometimes_ you were nice to me, and _sometimes_ you were open, and honest, and I could tell that you wanted me! And don’t tell me that it was because of some high vaunted sense of honor, or a masochistic need to suffer. _I_ think that you were just too much of a coward to do anything that could possibly upset your happy little world. And now you’re trying to get out of it by saying that it was all just a wine-induced lapse? Too bad. You did the deed, now face up to it, damn it!”

“Don’t you _dare_ say that I’m a coward. Don’t you dare! You don’t know me! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know how I feel, don’t know what I’ve been through! You don’t know _anything_. You can’t possibly know what I’m going to do, or how I’m feeling!”

“That’s right! I _don’t_ know anything about you. You’ve been such a closed lipped bastard that getting information about you _from_ you has been harder than staying awake during math class! If you’re not a coward, than prove it! Prove it by actually following through, by accepting that, for better or worse, you’ve just told me that you want me. Because I sure as hell am not going to just forget that.”

Keith whirled back around to glare at Lance, eyes flashing and face flushed. “Well you’re just going to have to! You’re just going to have to accept the fact that maybe, just maybe, the world doesn’t always go as you want it to. That sometimes doing what you want is worse than just ignoring your impulses, and it’s a damn good thing to learn that now then when those impulses are going to get you killed! Life isn’t fair, and nothing you say, nothing you do, none of your Gods or prayers can change that. Kami, do you have any idea just how fucking hard it would be to go back to the front, if I give in, if I let you in? Do you know how hard it would be to go back and know the entire time that I’m fighting that you’re here, waiting for me? Do you have any idea just how hard it will be to operate with thoughts of you clouding my mind? I’ve seen that sort of thing happen before, and I’ll be damned if that happens to me! _I’m_ not going to die because I’m not paying attention to the battlefield! And mark my words, that’s _exactly_ what would happen if I gave in, because today or tomorrow or sometime in the future, they’re going to need me again. They’re going to need someone killed, or something stolen, or they need information, and they’re going to form up another squad, and I’m going to be called back, and I’m going to be in hell again.”

“Keith-”

“No! Damn it, now _you_ listen to me! I’ve seen what love does on the battlefield. I lost my brother because he was thinking with his emotions instead of logic and stepped on a fucking mine. I spent two days trapped under a _building_ because I wasn’t thinking about the war, because I was too busy thinking about going home, too busy thinking about my family. Damn it, I’ve been fighting since I was twelve. I’ve been shuffled through more assignments, more deaths, because of my ‘abilities to lead’, because I can kill and fight and hurt and even die without caring, without feeling. I know what following your heart on the battlefield does to you, I know that letting your emotions go can fuck you over completely. Well, I’m not going to let you be the reason for my death. I care about you too much, for that to be your only purpose in my life. I love you too much to let that happen.”

The room suddenly stilled, and Lance took a deep breath. “You...you what?”

“I love you, okay? And Kami help me, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to love you because it hurts so much. It hurts so God dammed much and I just...I just want the pain to end. I just want to be normal. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I don’t want to love anyone anymore.”

“ _You_ don’t want to hurt anymore? Gods, Keith, don’t be so self-centered. What about _me_ huh? What about _my_ pain? There are two of us here, you know, and I think I’ve made it more than abundantly clear that I want you.” Lance sighed, the rage slowly ebbing away, leaving him drained. “Keith...I think I’ve loved you since my birthday, though gods know that you’ve done just about everything to stop that. And I can guarantee that I’m feeling just as much pain as you are about this whole thing.”

“Lance...stop. Please. I don’t...I don’t want to hear this, all right? If I could stop what I’m feeling I would.”

“Fine. Fine. You know what, this just isn’t worth it. It just isn’t fucking worth it. I’ve gone through seven levels of emotional hell because of you, and I’m not going through that again. I’m not going to wait for you to come to terms with yourself. So, fuck it. Do whatever you like, Keith. I’m leaving. You won’t have to worry about me chasing after you anymore.” Lance turned around, shoulders bowed in resignation. Keith watched him go, wrapped in chaos as his entire world, his life and everything he had ever known shattered completely, irrevocably.

 _Kami...What do I do? Do I let Lance walk away? Do I follow my parents wishes, and continue the line? Or...or should I follow him, follow my heart? What do I do?_

 _Lord, I love him so much. Why do I love him so much? How did this happen? How did he worm his way into my soul so easily? O Kami, I’m frightened of him. I’m frightened of the way I feel around him, frightened of how he makes me act, how he changes everything, makes everything...different. I’m so frightened, and yet, I want this so much. I want it with every fiber of my being._

 _But can I betray my parents so? Can I...can I become one of_ them, _one of those people that my father hates so much? Can I...can I actually love another man? Can I actually love_ Lance _?_

 _...Can I afford_ not _to love him?_

The pain that suddenly wrenched his soul decided for him.

“Lance. Wait.”

“Now what?” Lance sighed and turned around.

Keith reached out hesitantly to touch Lance’s hair, hand dropping as the other boy angrily twitched away. “Lance, I. I don’t think I could live if you were gone. I’m sorry that I. That I put you through so much, sorry that I couldn’t see how I felt, see what was really important to me. And, well, I don’t know what I could do to make up for that.” Keith’s head dropped, his fear and guilt radiating from him in palpable waves.

Lance reached out, his entire being screaming to comfort Keith; but halted the movement, too wary of this sudden change in Keith to give in to his instincts. “How do I know that you mean what you say, that this is for real?”

Keith swallowed, unable to answer that question, unable to prove to Lance that he meant what was said. “I...I can’t prove that, not right now. But Lance, you _have_ to believe me, _have_ to believe what I’m saying.” He gripped Lance’s arm tightly, imploringly.

“Sorry. But I don’t trust you. You’ve pulled too much shit on me today for me to believe you.” Lance twisted out of Keith’s grasp, turning around with a stiff back and hardened face, though inside he was trembling with the desire to believe. Keith felt tears well in his eyes, felt his throat constrict at the idea that he had ruined everything, destroyed the only person his mask had been unable to keep away. One hand reached up to grasp his ever present necklace for comfort, and a sudden inspiration struck.

“No! Wait! Here.” Unfastening the necklace with one hand as he ran, Keith grabbed onto Lance’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “Here. Take this. As long as you have this, I swear I will be yours.”

Lance took the necklace, eying the silver carvings, the eagle pendant, and the words twining between decorative flames. “Semper Fidelis? What’s so special about this thing?”

“It...it was my brother’s. The emblem of his squad. He,” Keith swallowed around the lump that formed in his throat, “he gave it to me right before he died. The words are Latin -- it’s the oath of his team. It means ‘Always Faithful’. And, I _swear_ that I’ll always be faithful to you, Lance. I swear it by the soul of my brother.”

Lance ran his fingers over the necklace, then smiled suddenly up at Keith, relief and lust and love and want and need and a thousand other confusing but happy emotions coursing through him. “Put it on for me?”

Keith smiled back and slipped the delicate silver chain around Lance’s neck. He kissed the warm metal where it touched Lance’s skin, loving how it twinkled against the smooth brown of Lance’s tan. _I’ll always be faithful, Lance no matter what may happen. My soul, my heart...I’m yours forever._

~~~

Later, much later, hair still damp from his shower and his eyes still a little puffy from his tears, Keith lay on the bed and tried to ignore the panic that still twisted inside him. He looked at Lance drying off instead -- Lance who had danced him to the brink of what Keith had always treated as accepted behavior and then pushed him over. Lance had always roused feelings in him that were intense, but now they were almost _too_ intense, to breathtakingly, painfully beautiful, and deep in the back of his mind, a worrisome voice shouted out the consequences of this action.

But just seeing Lance content -- to see his minutely tensed shoulders relaxed -- was enough to silence that voice. There was something oddly rosy to him, and the happy feeling that bubbled deep within Keith’s soul whenever he looked at Lance soothed the painful burn of his want, his need. The feeling of Lance’s eyes upon him made him look up and smile, relishing the open, soft, stare.

“What are you looking at?” Keith murmured, drowsy heat sapping his strength. The room’s Regulator had gone on the fritz sometime earlier that day, shorting out the atmospheric system completely and leaving the room at the mercy of the moon’s muggy autumn weather. Keith still felt sticky and hot, despite his shower, and the soft bedding stuck to his skin.

“You.” Lance let the towel negligently drop and padded on silent feet across the room to collapse upon the bed in a lethargic abandon. Keith turned his head to face Lance, eyes lidded with drowsiness.

“Tell me about your family,” Keith murmured. “I want to know who you are.”

Lance chuckled softly. “Oh, I’m nothing like my family. For one, they’re all blue-eyed, light haired, stocky farmers, like my mum. She says we’re from ‘good stock’. I have five brothers, all of them older than me, which really sucks because I was beaten up a lot. My brothers -- Gods, my brothers are bizarre. They can make an eyebrow mean fifty different things. I suppose this is why Giano and Stefano are doing so well in the Garrison; they were born sergeants. They have eyes like...like...eagles I suppose. They can spot a sniper faster than my mum can spot a prank.”

“Mmm. Where’s your mom from?”

“The island of Capri on New Earth. I think you’d like her. She’s the real force behind my family. My mum doesn’t take flak from _anybody_. Of course, my da’s from Balthos, which could be part of the reason why my mum’s the head of the house. Da isn’t very used to dealing with females. Anyway, that makes me and my brothers half-breeds. Balthos is a great place,” Lance whispered into his ear. "We live on a little island in the middle of the Cornith Ocean, and the sound of the waves hitting the shore is the most beautiful sound in the world. The sun always shines and the people always smile, and during the Feast of Sirao the entire island smells of roses."

The rosy heat of his body washed over Keith -- a good heat -- as Lance leaned down next to him, hands gently caressing his body. He kissed Keith’s shoulders, arms sliding under the still damp skin to wrap around his waist, head falling to rest on his smooth back. Keith felt Lance move further down his back and he twitched away, uncomfortable with the contact.

"Lance. Stop."

Lance's body stilled, pulled away a little and Keith sighed. Though he couldn’t see it, Keith knew that Lance would be frowning now, thinking that Keith had changed his mind yet again.

"I don't. Just. Don't touch me there, okay?" Keith rolled until he was looking at Lance again. "I don't like it when people touch _those_ scars. Anywhere else is fine. Just not there."

“Okay. I just." Lance looked down at Keith's chest, instead, wisely not pushing the issue. A smooth finger traced the pale scars that marred his smooth skin, ran over the minute dips. "Keith...what did you mean when you said the Army would need you to assassinate someone? Why do you have these scars. Where did they come from? What happened to you?”

“Long story to say the least,” Keith mumbled back. He was so tired. Too tired to resist, too tired to keep the secrets buried. His head, his body, throbbed with an unknown pulse. Whispering voices from a time long past cried and murmured just beyond the range of his hearing, distracted him.

“If you...if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand,” Lance whispered, voice hesitant but filled with concern.

“No. It’s okay. Do you know why I’m here, at Cogdah?” Lance shook his head, his brown hair tickling the sensitive skin on Keith's chest. Keith shivered at the sensation, shivered at the memories the feeling dredged up. “Well...I’m sure you know that before I came here I was in the Land Forces division of the G.G., training to go into that division of the military. But...but that’s not all I was doing there. There is this...squad, this special division that belongs to the entire G.G...They’re called the ‘Redcaps’ and they do the Alliance’s dirty work. They’re assassins, thieves, terrorists, spies, named after goblins that killed and dipped their berets in the blood of their enemies until their caps were stained the same brilliant red as that blood. And every member of that squad is a child. Or at least, there was a squad like that. After...after our little disaster on SinisIV, I don’t think they reformed the squad.

“But I used to lead them; led them since I was twelve. I wasn’t even part of the Land Forces when I started, and they still put me in command. All those scars -- they’re from missions. Every last one of them; every mission that I’ve been on, every kill, every stolen piece of intelligence, or sabotaged machine or terrorist attack has embedded itself in my body, left a permanent memory. Kami, they hurt sometimes. Especially those patches on my shoulder blades; those were my first scars, I got them from the bomb that killed my brother Ash. At least, that’s what the Docs tell me -- memories of my life before I awoke in the Sanatorium on Methe in ‘55 are fuzzy, non-existent practically.

“Kami, I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing when they put me in charge of the squad four years ago. I didn’t have a clue as to how to lead, or what part of the body was the most sensitive to a knife thrust or a punch. Six months training and I still didn’t know, not really. Hell, I don’t even know now. I don’t know why -- No, I do know why. They made me a leader because being able to do all that, the killing and inflicting pain on others, was instinctive for me. Knowing how to kill and how to maim and injure and hurt and sabotage and do such horrible horrible things -- -they were all just sort of _there_ ; I just sort of _knew_. Sometimes I hate the Alliance for that, for thrusting me into such a position, for showing me things too early. But then I remember that it’s all _their_ fault that Ash died, that the people I’m killing took one of my own and threaten the safety of _everyone_ in the Alliance. And so I. I killed them. Because they would have hurt the Alliance if they hadn't been stopped and because sometimes, this was the only justice that they were going to answer to. And for that, they made me a Captain.”

It didn’t hurt so much, the memories. Not as before. The wound in his soul was still there, but it was no longer raw, no longer bleeding. And it felt so good to just talk, to fuck the classified warnings, and just speak, honor his fallen comrades in any way he could.

“There were six people in the squad -- six kids defending the justice of the Alliance. Dorian, Michael, Kes, Inai and Rani -- they were twins -- and Jade. I was the second oldest -- Dorian was a year older than me. And we were damn good at what we did. Damn good. We averted wars, ended scandals...killed for the Alliance, killed at a word, and we were all just children...All of us were just children. I mean, Jade wasn’t even ten when she died. She wasn’t even ten! Where’s the justice in that? We killed because we could, because we were _trained_ to kill, because we had special skills.”

 _Blood, so much blood. And so much pain. Can’t tell where the pain is coming from. So many missions, so many deaths, my hands stained with blood. The Knife of the Alliance. Chosen to kill, chosen to be the_ best _because of who we were, because of what we could do, because we all looked so God damned innocent and nobody would ever suspect a bunch of kids would go around killing people. But what we were doing was right...right?_

“Like Dorian -- Kami was he good at building bombs. His favorite was this little device -- no bigger than the palm of his hand -- that could level the United Planet’s building. And little Jade was the best assassin I’ve ever met. She could charm tears from a stone; and she never left a trace after killing her target. She was only five when she joined in ‘55, you know? It was because she was a Hyperion, because her little body had more strength, more stamina and agility than a Terran in their prime. And she never even reached her full potential. Then there was Inai and Rani; they were top-notch spies, they could get into anything, _anything_. Even into the Lykorn defense system. They were eight years old when I met them. And Michael, who had a mind like a steel trap. He remembered anything you told him, could break codes in a matter of seconds. And Kes...Kami, Kes was special. He was an escape artist -- better than Houdini, even. Kes was the same age as me. He grew up on Kelari, he’s the only who survived SinisIV, besides me -- well the guy we were supposed to kill, Yuri Kingmaker did too, but he’s in some insane asylum somewhere.

“You know, if I hadn’t fucked up, we’d still be killing. I don’t know whether to be glad about that or not. I don’t know if getting out while I could was a good thing or not. If I hadn’t let them come, if I had just told them that it was a solo mission, then none of this mess would have happened. They’d all still be alive.”

“What happened on SinisIV?” Lance’s voice was soft but filled with a sick wonder. _To know death so young...No wonder he’s filled with such pain..._

“I fucked up, is what it all boils down to. The mission was to kill Yuri before he could make the nephew of the king of SinisIV into the figurehead of the rebellion that was threatening the planet. The nephew was all right -- he was just a baby -- Yuri was the real trouble-maker. Anyway, he was in this building that was like a cross between those old castles up in Europe and dEkk-mnzvar forts, and I was supposed to go in and take him out. I had to, I was the only one good enough in all the fields -- assassination, espionage, sabotage, terrorism -- that the squad dealt with to be able to get to him safely. The fort was a death trap, and we all knew it was a death trap. Of course, being the idiot that I am, I decided that it’d be a good idea to take some back up. We tripped one of the warning systems on the fifth floor and one thing led to another -- ” Keith stopped suddenly, swallowing as memories of that day crashed down on him, drowned him in their intensity. He could still hear – always heard – the ghostly echo of their screams; their sobs, their panic, their anger and fear and pain and useless prayers.

But Keith pushed on. He didn’t care anymore, didn’t worry anymore. He was past that, damn it. He was a soldier -- a warrior -- and death happened. He should know, he was often the dealer of death. It was time to move past the pain. It was time to move on, time to let them go, time to let old spirits die and stop them from disturbing his dreams by their tapping, their incessant tapping on his window, bloody faces pushed up against the glass, smearing the clear surface --

He cut off that line of thought abruptly. Hysterics never helped, only hindered; that was the first rule he learned. “We were attacked, and the building pretty much exploded right out from under us. Kes and I were lucky; when we fell through the floor, we hit a wine cellar or something. Of course, the rest of the building fell on top of us, but at least we were alive.” Keith shuddered. Those last five minutes still plagued him, even now, half a year after the attack. “It took two days for the rescue team to dig us out. The Alliance cooked up some half-ass story about an honors program and a field trip to cover why we were there, Kes and I got plastered all over the news briefs, got a bunch of honors and shit, and the ‘Redcaps’ were quietly retired. Doesn't quite make up for about a month of reconstructive surgery, and having to put up with idiot psychologists, but that’s about the extent of what happened.” Keith closed his eyes and swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. “You’re the first person that I’ve told _any_ of this to, Lance. I’m actually a little sorry that I did so. Didn’t mean to burden you with my problems.”

“You’re trembling,” Lance whispered, voice filled with compassion. Gentle fingers touched his cheek, turning his face, stilling his shaking hands.

“Huh. So I am. Fancy that.”


	14. Interlude

  
_A Brief History of New Earth  
An Essay by Kai Jhe’va  
Professor of Terran History  
Cogdah, Selene_   


_The history of New Earth is a long and complicated one. The origins of this planet span both Time, and Space, stretching back aeons before this foundation of this planet to the First Earth, Earth-prime, which was found in the now almost mythical “Milky Way Galaxy”. From the records left by the founders of this planet -- those who came in the Colony Carrier_ Ganymedes _\-- we have learned that the settlers who crashed on this planet were part of the first wave of a Preservation colony destined for the moon “Calisto” of the planet “Jupiter” in the Solar System and that Earth-prime was in the middle of its third millennium. The fifty-thousand settlers who happened upon New Earth through a ‘Worm hole’, were ill prepared for the harsh life that greeted them on this uninhabited planet. Few among this colony of intellectuals knew how to build and maintain their current level of technology, and they quickly regressed into a highly primitive culture, similar to that experienced during the “prehistoric” era on Earth-prime._

 _These first settlers originally stayed in a close-knit community, building the famous city of Athens at the spot where the transport crashed. This city, long thought to be lost, was primitive by the standards of 37th century Earth-prime, but to those on New Earth, it was a technological marvel, made of indestructible alloys and Calarium powered machines. This city was ruled by the Sixteen, and all the knowledge of Old Earth was stored within the great, silent buildings that lined the streets. However, like all things mechanical, the city's technology eventually failed, leaving these early settlers without a means of providing for themselves. The inhabitants of the city drifted away, each racial and cultural group creating their own small clans and, for the next thousand years, spent their time forming nations exceedingly reminiscent to those they had left behind; these early countries are so similar to those of Old Earth that they are almost exact in geography, and all bear the same names as those found in their “mother” country. These early settlers also began to rebuild their level of technology, slowly moving toward their former glory. Oddly enough, these settlers seemed extremely conscientious of the state of their environment, appearing to hold extreme reluctance to destroy the natural environs. Some hypothesize that this was a hold over from the first settlers' advanced state of civilization, but it has been conclusively proven that it was easier for our ancestors to work in concert with their environs, rather than attempting to control them._

 _[...] In the third millennium of New Earth inhabitation, the populace was contacted by an alien race. Though outwardly the copy of the Terran race, these aliens, dubbed Arusians after the name of their planet, were by far and away the superior race, exceeding Terrans in all things. Although joining of Arus with New Earth in alliance was originally heralded as a time of equality, Arus’ greater knowledge of space and superior armaments quickly established her as the more powerful planet. This arrangement was galling to the Terrans and, though never outwardly challenging their ally (especially after the Alliance blossomed into the grand entity that we know today), the Terrans surreptitiously attempted to gain the upper hand in any dealings that the fledgling Alliance had. Though the Terrans did not emerge as superior in these affairs, they did manage to make impressive headway into their ultimate goal; namely, the establishment of New Earth as the base for the United Planets Counsel. This ensured that the power of the Alliance rested solely in Terran hands, and it is no coincidence that New Earth is the greatest source of personnel in every tier of the Alliance._

 _[...] It wasn’t until 3000 A.U. that New Earth managed to become the superior planet. The advent of the Fourth Plague and the death of over a quarter of the sentient people in the Alliance was one of the darkest periods in New Earth history [...] [during this time] the largest Arusian Civil War erupted. These two events devastated Arus, and the planet was forced to turn inward for a thousand years, attempting to heal from these dual wounds. It was during this time that New Earth committed its most heinous crime. Not content with snatching every last scrap of power from the Alliance and molding it into a system that was agreeable to her inhabitants, New Earth also refused to send aid to Arus when she was attacked by Olran Bandits in 4023. Though the Arusian space force managed to repel the attack, her already-exhausted economy collapsed once more. So devastated was Arus that the entire planet regressed to a culture that reflected the feudal era of 1500 New Earth [...]_

 _However, it should not be said that Arus is without some of the power that she once possessed. Though New Earth managed to stage a small coup, and seize control of the Alliance, Arus is still the_ primus iner pares _and the Arusian monarch is still the Chairman of the Counsel of Five, holding the closest thing to absolute power there is in the Alliance. However, since Arus has not attended a meeting of the Five since 3008, this rank is now considered nothing more than an honorary title. Indeed, many consider New Earth as the Chairman for all the power now attributed to this planet [...]_


	15. Chapter 15

__

Date: December 20, 6861 A.U.  
Location: Hapsar platform, Halarnath station,  
Francisco City, Epsilon quadrant  
Time: 1240 STG

The transport was late, and someone had forgotten to turn the snow off. Lance fidgeted in the simulated cold, wondering again, at the human drive to make things recognizable. _Environmental Regulators are all well and good,_ he thought, _but couldn’t they just forget about this miserable season?_ Lance’s thoughts grew darker as he reflected on the furrowed lines that marred Keith’s brow, lines that were well on their way to being permanent.

It had not been a happy two months for either boy, despite the sudden change in their relationship from subtle want to full-blown intimacy. Lance was still leery of Keith’s commitment, of whether or not he would awaken in the morning with Keith beside him. Too often was he caught in the throws of aversion, a distancing from the one man who caused his soul to scream in euphoristic pain, too afraid that Keith would leave him. Yet, there were times when he found himself in the thrall of a passion -- a love -- that was frightening in its intensity, so powerful that he often could not hold himself in check, jumping upon Keith with an animal desire, kissing and petting in need but still too wary to allow himself -- or Keith -- much more than that. And lately, those times were becoming and more frequent. Too frequent for the reservations that Lance still held.

But far too infrequent for the need.

Keith, on his part, was driving himself slowly insane with need. Unsure of whether his advances would be met, whether Lance still desired him, still wanted him, Keith had forced himself to maintain an even more rigorous hold on his hormones than he had before they had both gotten plastered and confessed. He had surprised himself, though, in the ease with which he had become used to the few kisses Lance allowed. That he could be so familiar, the only member of his squad who had never been part of the casual -- almost intimate -- touches, was frightening in a way; yet in its way, exciting beyond belief.

It was almost amusing at how their roles had been reversed; the chaser now the chased, the hunter the hunted. It would have been hilarious, had it not been them. Still, Lance was finally letting himself trust, letting their rocky beginning go, not letting his fears destroy what might be. It was this new resolve that had them out on the platform in the first place, waiting for the ship that would take them to Tyrs’ai and Lance’s family for their Winter break.

“You’re sure your parents aren’t going to mind that I’m coming with you?” Lance sighed and turned to Keith, rolling his eyes as Keith asked the same question for the umpteenth time that day. Feeling in a playful mood, Lance grinned at Keith.

“Yes, I’m sure. They expect me to bring home strays.” His breath formed a small cloud in the air before him; an occurrence that never failed to fascinate Lance. It was just about the only good thing to come from winter in his opinion.

“Strays?” An eyebrow quirked, the beginnings of a smile forming on Keith’s face.

“Oh yeah. Dogs, cats, birds, Sven...You should be no surprise. After Sven, I think my joh’ri -- sorry, my parents -- will be able to handle _everything_. You won’t even present a challenge.”

“Really now.” Keith’s arms wrapped themselves around Lance’s waist, enfolding him in a comforting warmth.

 _Hmm...So_ this _is why this season is so popular_. Lance leaned back, relishing how Keith filled his bones with warm, melting into that heat. “Yeah, I don’t think that there is anything you could do to challenge my parents.”

“Even this?” Keith leaned forward and in, kissing the soft mouth that tilted back in expectation. “Or this?” he breathed, hands traveling southward, slipping into the waistband of Lance’s jeans.

“Well, they might notice _that_ ,” Lance sighed, melting under Keith administrations, silently congratulating himself on not flinching away, on accepting Keith’s touch with out that wary mistrust which had marred their intimacy up to this night. It was nice that his whole being was finally believing the oath Keith had sworn almost three months ago.

“Ahem.”

Keith gave a strangled gasp and jumped away from Lance at the soft, slightly amused cough, his hands whipping from Lance’s jeans faster than they had gone in. Lance whirled around to glare angrily at whoever had coughed, knowing that his face was flaming red in embarrassment. The heat which stained his checks now grew even greater as he saw that it was Sven who had coughed, a knowing -- almost lecherous -- grin on his face. Still, however much embarrassment he was feeling now, was surely less than that of Keith, who looked absolutely mortified.

“Well,” Sven began, “I was going to wish you a happy Christmas, but I think that you two will be having a happy Christmas where ever you go.”

“Your just jealous that you don’t have anybody to spend Christmas with,” Lance shot back, trying to get his embarrassment under control. “All _you_ have to go home to his your mum and her boyfriend.”

“You’ve found me out, Lance. I secretly want Keith. In fact, the only reason that I’ve come here is to steal him away from you. Come, Keith! Let me take you away from this moon and back to the beautiful fjords of Sweden.”

Lance smiled. “Ahh, you’ve progressed far, Little Grasshopper. But you will never beat the master of sarcasm!”

“Well, we’ll see.” The platform shook as the transport to Tyrs’ai arrived. “Looks like your ships here. I’ll see you guys in two weeks.”

“Yep. Come on, Keith. I can’t wait for you to meet my family.” Lance grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him onto the transport. He smiled and grabbed a quick kiss in the entrance-way, mind already thinking of what the fun they would have -- preoccupied with what was going to be, he completely missed the flash of jealousy that marred the normally impassive Swede’s face.

~~~

Date: December 26, 6861 A.U.  
Location: Tiazone holdings, Ashakl  
Tyr’sai, Shoal quadrant  
Time: 1620 STG

There was a cliff in the Tiazone holding which looked out across the Bay of Horses and cast a shadow across the dark water that foamed and moaned below. It was strong in its solitude, a bastion from an ancient time, once used as a lookout's post for marauders. Now a days, however, it was more often used for a secret tryst, the flat head covered in a tangle of sweet truska bushes which kept prying eyes away. In the warmth of the Tyrs’ai season of Jhan -- so different from New Earth’s winter -- the dark red fruit were just starting to ripen, glowing thick and juicy in the setting sun. Keith lay among them, lips stained with their juice, belly aching from his gorging. It was still too early for the young lovers of the willage on the bay to make the trek up the bluff and Keith loved the solitude.

 _Kami, where is Lance?_ _First, he tells me to make sure that I’m not late, and then he forgets to even show up._ Sighing, rolling over onto his protesting stomach, Keith gazed at the setting sun’s reflection on the clouds. _I’d_ swear _he was adopted if he didn’t look so much like his father..._

Keith smiled at the thought of the rest of the Tiazone family, and let himself slip into a wistful, dreamy state. It would be nice to have a family like Lance’s, to have such a loving, expressive mother, and a wise, dryly humorous father. To have siblings that ran and played and joked. From the first moment that he had laid eyes upon the horde that was Lance’s clan, he had felt welcomed. Mama Tiazone hadn’t hesitated to wrap him in a hug -- the sort of bone crushing bear hug that Ash used to give him when on leave -- and then the hard, jarring, friendly clap of Papa Tiazone’s hand on his shoulder and the whirling chaos of the five brothers, chattering, greeting, sweeping and swirling in a flurry of clothing and bags and air-brushed happy kisses.

They were all so different from Lance, and more so than just in physical appearance. Lance was dark, almost dusky compared to them, with his dark brown eyes -- so different from the rest of the Tiazone’s crystal blue orbs -- and lovely, silken, mahogany hair. And they were all thicker set, less impish, less puckish than Lance. They were all so...grounded. Almost sedate, with an earthy feeling. Everything they did was...subtle. Every small gesture was filled with meaning. It was so very different from Lance’s passionate and expressive manner.

“Keith?” Lance’s voice floated through the sunset air, breathless and confused. Keith sat up, wincing slightly as his over-full stomach protested. He smiled slightly as the other boy continued his trek up the cliff path, hauling a basket behind him. “Keith, where the hell are you?”

“Right here, Lance.” Keith stood, carefully avoiding the thorns that covered the truska branches.

“Well, get your ass over here and help me with this food,” Lance grunted, pulling the basket along, straining under the weight of the fare packed within the wicker confines. Keith edged his way out of the tangled, brambly underbrush, cursing softly as the softly as his clothing was caught and his skin pricked. Arms covered in small, ruby patterns, Keith met Lance at the edge of the bluff, too late to offer any help. Lance wrinkled his nose at Keith and snorted.

“Some help you are.”

Keith shrugged and grinned. “How was I supposed to know that it’s harder to get out of those bushes than it is to get in?”

“You’re hurt.” Lance reached out to touch the myriad scratches, looking at the red that stained his finger tips in a strange sort of wonder.

“It’s nothing. Merely a flesh wound,” Keith proclaimed grandly before prodding the wicker basket with one foot. “So, what exactly is in there?”

Lance sighed. “Well, I wanted this to be a really special night, because I have something really important to tell you. So, I tried to cook.” Keith raised one eyebrow in perfect disbelief. “Don’t worry. That isn’t what you’re going to be eating. That stuff could probably pass as a level one biohazard. The stuff that’s in _there_ is the best fare that fifty credits can buy down in the willage.”

Grinning, Lance opened the basket and pulled out a colorful blanket which he spread upon the ground, setting up a candelabra as well, to replace the now dying sun light. The blanket was followed by various dishes from conjured up from the depths of the basket: a meat dish, drowned in a thick gravy; fruit so plump and ripe that it was bruised just by gazing upon it; salads, pastas, a pie that smelled sweeter than the flowers around it...Keith felt sick just looking at the feast.

“Um, Lance?”

“Yeah?” Lance was humming as he set up the meal, carefully arranging the medley of dishes.

“I, uh, I don’t think I can eat any of this.” Keith felt himself wilting under Lance’s surprised stare, and he hurried to explain himself. “I, um, I was hungry when I got up here, and I kind of gorged myself on those berries over there,” he waved vaguely towards the copse, “and if I eat anything more right now, I’m either going to explode or vomit.”

“Oh.” Lance rocked back onto his heels. “Well, this puts a bit of a crimp in my plans.” He sighed. “Well, I’m still hungry, and most of this stuff keeps over-night, so it won’t be _that_ much of a loss. Damn it, this was supposed to be special.”

“Why?” Keith sat down on the blanket, across from the now petulant Lance.

“Because, I wanted to say I was sorry -- and I am, I’m very sorry for being such an ass lately -- and I wanted to give you a truly romantic dinner, and I went through all this trouble and you went and ate yourself sick on berries. I swear, the Gods have conspired against me in _everything_.”

“You didn’t have to go through all that trouble just to apologize, you know,” Keith chuckled. “Just saying sorry would have been enough for me.”

“Oh. Well, damn, I wish I’d known that before I bought all this stuff.” Lance pouted for a minute, then shrugged. “No big loss. It just means that we’ll be eating leftovers.” He lapsed into silence, staring expectantly at Keith. Keith looked blankly back, unsure of what was expected of him.

“Well?” Lance finally asked impatiently.

“Well what?” Keith replied.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.”

Lance smiled, an almost smug smile. “Good. Because you are just too damn sexy to let go.” He leaned across gently kissed Keith on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, but a willing one that was more passionate in its unreserved purity; it was sweet and full of tempting, tantalizing secrets. Keith licked his lips when they broke apart, wanting to explore those secrets, to unravel each layer in gentle adoration, to know every wrinkle, every crevice in the lips which the candle flames flickered over. Lance smiled seductively and grabbed his hand, pulling him down to the blanket with shy, alluring glances and air-light kisses over suddenly tingling skin.

Behind them, the moon rose.

~~~

Date: June 1, 6862 A.U.  
Location: Halpenny Auditorium,  
Cogdah Academy.  
Time: 0800 STG

The new term had not yet started, but Sven was already learning a valuable lesson: the opening assembly was vastly different from the audience than it was from the stage. The whole ceremony was rather...boring without the expectation of singing that had consumed him last year. Sven leaned back in his seat, contemplating the wisdom of joining the poker game Lance, Keith, Holden and Klin’ra had going on. However, he wasn’t so sure if he wanted to lose the credits his mother had given him so early in the term. They were all notorious cheats and card sharks in the making, and whenever the four played cards together the games quickly disintegrated into seeing who was the better cheater.

“Hey, did you hear?” Nanaki nudged Sven with his head. The giant fire-red Olran’s voice was low and grawelly. What the peaceful creature was doing in the Galaxy Garrison was still a source of great speculation -- and not a few betting pools. Though savage looking -- his one good eye a fierce yellow, the other nothing more than a scar, body marked with the symbols of his tribe, hair spiked into a fearsome mohawk -- and shaped more as a killer than a pacifist, Nanaki was too softhearted to ever be a fighter. He was destined for scholarly work, a teaching position. And Sven was glad of that. It would be a crime to force such a peaceful, gentle, creature into a position where he would be forced to kill.

“Well Sven? Did you hear?”

“That we got some mechanical geniuses coming here? Ja, you told me a few days ago.”

“No, not that. There’s something new.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Keith’s up for an award.”

Sven groaned, and rolled his eyes to say ‘ _So what else is new’_. Nanaki grinned, rough, pink tongue hanging out of the toothsome mouth. “Yeah, but this time it’s for a painting he did.”

“A what?”

“A painting.” Nanaki wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t know that he painted, did you? D’you suppose there’s more to him than just fighting?”

“Hah! I win.” Keith was grinning broadly as he swept the pile of credit chips in his direction. Holden hissed, lizard face wrinkled in disappointment. The Harmonai hated to lose, and her thin, forked tongue flickered with agitation. Klin’ra merely shrugged his huge shoulders and shifted his bulky form. The Renstat surely had something up his sleeve. Probably an ace. Or five.

Sven shook his head, unable to comprehend the idea of a non-competitive Keith. The thought that Keith might take his focus from the martial classes in Cogdah to dabble in...art, or poetry, or something fanciful that didn’t involve some element of battle was just too alien. The world would end before something like that happened.

“No, really! I saw it!” Nanaki protested. “It was actually sort of...beautiful. In a bloody and disturbing way. I think that it was part of the whole anger management course that they’re making him take.”

“Oh. Well, that explains it then.”

“Yeah, well, did you see it?” Sven shook his head. “It was a little bizarre. See, there was this winged man -- ”

“Like an angel? If you ask me, the whole guardian angel thing has been done already.”

Nanaki shook his head. “Not quite this way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guardian angel standing on a pile of bodies and holding a severed head.”

Sven blinked. “Hmm. Well, that certainly _is_ a twist. You know, I don't think that those courses are helping too much.”

“Yeah,” Nanaki mumbled. The two cast a surreptitious look at their gambling, bloodthirsty friend and edged a little further away.

~~~

Date: February 05, 6864 A.U.  
Location: Tudor Residency Hall, rm. 113.  
Cogdah Academy, Fransisco City, Epsilon quarter.  
Selene, Priman Quadrant.  
Time: 0800 STG

Lance was annoying the hell out of his roommates, bouncing off of the walls and making a general nuisance of himself. He had snuck into the kitchen earlier that morning to steal a cup of coffee; the jolt of forbidden caffeine had turned the normally energetic boy into a bouncing, aggravating, hyperactive gas molecule. And Sven was quickly running out of patience.

Pulling his head out from under his pillow he glared across the room at the bundled form in the other bed. “Well, why aren't you doing something, Keith?”

“Why should _I_ be doing something?” Keith grumbled back.

“You _are_ his boyfriend. Can't you control him? For chrissake, it is our _late_ day.”

Keith sighed and opened his eyes. Waiting for Lance to make another pass by the bed, Keith reached and snagged the bouncing boy, pulling him onto the bed. The two disappeared under the blankets, and Sven smiled as peace was restored to their dorm room. He flopped his head back down onto his pillow and closed his eyes, preparing to slip away into the realm of sleep once more. Until the giggling started, anyway.

At first it was soft, just on the edge of his hearing. Acceptable, if somewhat distracting. And then it got louder. And louder. Until it was all that Sven could hear. It consumed him, took over everything, and by God was it irritating.

Normally, Sven was the calm one of the trio. He had to be with Lance the psychopath on one side and Keith the sociopath on the other. He was the one to smooth things over with angry classmates after Lance’s pranks got out of hand, and calm Keith down before he used a pen to gut a teacher that he disagreed with -- and Sven had no doubt that Keith could indeed do this.

Sven was a master of Zen, in complete control of his face, able to let the world pass him by without managing to get a single rise from him. He had perfected the art of aloofness, blue-ice eyes always calm. He could withstand angry rants, juvenile pranks, the grating sound of a whetstone running over a knife. But, to hear Keith and Lance giggling, to know that his roommates had something special, something that Sven could never possibly have, because he was so aloof, so distant, was just beyond his scope of endurance.

At least, that was the reason he gave himself as the source behind his annoyance at the giggling. He wasn’t prepared to think about the real reason, about why the noise grated so. He wasn’t ready to face the truth behind the gut wrenching feelings he got at watching the two of them kiss; the itching feeling to run his hands through the silken hair and push errant bangs away from entrancing eyes...

Sven shook his head to free himself from such thoughts. It was too early for soul searching. And besides, he was _tired_ damn it! His two roommates had kept him awake all night playing strip poker -- or did it just disintegrate into a drinking-and-pranking session? -- with Holden, Nanaki, Klin’ra, Pidge and Hunk the mechanical geniuses. Those two were far too good at cards and, so far as Sven could recall, hadn't cheated once. So it was all their fault that he had ended up naked and drunk and streaked down the hallways at five in the morning, in the girl’s wing, screaming something about chickens and the Russians. And the hangover was their fault as well.

He hurled his pillow at the slightly squirming lump, hoping that it would get them to shut up. His ploy failed pathetically and now he was left without a pillow.

Deciding that it would be impossible to gain further rest, Sven rolled out of his bed, landing on the floor with a thump. Gathering a clean uniform, Sven snatched his pillow back from his dorm mates’ bed.

“I’m going out. Perhaps there will be a pretty young woman who will be willing to share their bed with me.”

Lance poked his head out from the blankets. “Have fun. Don’t to anything I wouldn’t.”

“Lance, that only _expands_ the list,” Keith murmured, head appearing beside his boyfriend’s. Sven rolled his eyes and snatched up his school materials.

“Well, I’m going now. _Please_ try to remember to go to class today. I’m tired of covering your asses.”

Lance snorted. “Please. We are _plenty_ good at covering each other’s ass.”

Sven sighed and rolled his eyes. “I meant outside of the bed, you idiot. Now, I’m leaving before you two ruin my whole day.” The tall Swede slipped out of the room, leaving Lance and Keith alone. Lance waited for the door to close before turning to Keith, a twinkle in his eye.

“You know, we’re all alone now...”

“Why yes,” Keith made a great show of looking around the room, “I believe that we are.”

“You do realize what this means, don’t you?” Lance’s voice had dropped to a husky whisper, body shifting until it covered Keith’s.

“I don’t believe I do. Why don’t you educate me?”

Lance grinned and kissed Keith’s nose, moving slowly downward with feather light brushes. Keith moaned under the ministrations, hating Lance for this exquisite torture, loving him for the feelings that he aroused.

Somebody knocked on the door, loudly and instantly, demanding to be let in. “Keith? Keith, open up. It’s not nice to keep your parents waiting, son.” The voice was rough and gravely, and it chilled Keith to the bone.

“Shit! The General!” Keith sat up, scrambling out of bed in a tangled rush of blankets and limbs. Lance, who had been pulled onto the floor with him, looked up at Keith in confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“My parents are here. Lance, I gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later.” Keith was already halfway changed, somehow managing to look decent even though half a minute ago he was but a few seconds away from a rather pleasurable carnal encounter. He swooped down to plant a brief kiss upon Lance’s forehead, before dashing out of the room. Through the door, Lance caught a brief glimpse of General Tsumetai, the man in charge of Japan’s military, and a pretty Japanese woman before the door slid closed and he was left all alone and dreadfully confused.

~~~

It wasn’t until the end of their first class that Lance finally managed to corner Keith. He fell in stride with his boyfriend, waiting expectantly for the promised explanation. When it became obvious that one wasn’t forthcoming, he grabbed Keith’s hand and pulled him into a nearby door alcove, out of the flow of traffic.

“Well? What’s going on? What were your parents doing here?” Lance demanded.

“It’s not important.” Keith brushed off Lance’s questions, moving to merge with the stream of students once more. Lance grabbed him arm and pulled him back, eyes demanding.

“Bull shit. Tell me.”

“Fine,” Keith sighed. “But, you have to promise not to get angry.”

“Now why would I get angry?”

“Because my parents have no clue that we’re going out. As far as they know, I’m looking for a nice girl to settle down with.”

“What?”

Keith sighed, rubbing his forehead, trying to soothe the beginnings of a headache. He did _not_ need this. “Okay, you know my brother Ash is dead, right?” Lance nodded. “Well that means that I’m the last hope for my family to continue the genetic line. My mother can’t have any more children, and my father is too honorable to take a mistress -- my father is really big on honor. So, I need to go find some willing female, spread my seed, and make sure the Tsumetai line continues into the future.”

“You don’t have any cousins?” Lance wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or sympathetic.

“Nope. In fact, I’m not even carrying down my parents genes. My father -- General Tsumetai -- isn’t really my father, nor is my mother my real mother. My blood-father died of...cancer, I believe, when I was just a child and I’ve always been told that my birth-mother died giving birth to me. I don’t remember any of this life -- from what memories of my childhood I _do_ have, the General has always been my father -- but the doctors say that partial amnesia is common in victims of severe head trauma.”

“You can’t remember your father at all?”

Keith sighed. “Lance, for all intents and purposes, the General _is_ my father. It’s that whole ‘Nurture vs. Nature’ question. The General and my mother are my uncle and aunt through nature. However, I view them as my mother and father because they nurtured me.”

“So, basically, you’ve been adopted. And you don’t have the slightest clue as to the whole genetic thing, because what you’re talking about is something entirely different from your whole situation.”

“Well, yes. But it sounded intelligent, didn’t it?”

“No. And why the hell do you need to impregnate some chick!”

“Because,” Keith spoke slowly as if to a slow child, “it’s my duty to make sure that a line which stretches back to the first settlers continues. My parents expect that of me, and I’m not about to disappoint them.” Keith paused. “And it’s the only concrete duty expected of me that I’ve been able to get out of them. I honestly think that they don’t know what to do with me.”

“Oh, well, that’s great. So you pick screwing a girl as the one thing to honor your parents.” Lance sighed. “Why can’t you use one of those ‘create-a-kid’ centers, and find a willing host mother?”

“Tradition for the most part. It needs to be as ‘natural’ as possible. And my father is a strict traditionalist. Which brings up another thing. You _cannot_ tell them we’re going out. The shock could kill my father. Worse, he may feel that I’ve compromised the family’s honor and that I must commit seppuku in order to atone. Neither of which are exactly pleasant prospects, especially if he believes that this is a grave enough offense to allow some bending of tradition. Besides, he hates gays.” Lance shot Keith a ‘ _You’ve got to be kidding’_ look. Keith shrugged and defensively replied, “I told you; he’s a traditionalist. He doesn’t believe that there should be homosexuals in the military.”

“But that issue hasn’t been a controversy for five hundred and fifty years!” Lance practically shouted. “What lifetime is you father _living_ in?”

“Well, he barely tolerates gays in any situation, so it’s a sort of widespread hatred. He thinks the whole thing is unnatural.” Keith sighed and checked his watch and pulled Lance into the quickly thinning stream of traffic. “Look, we need to get to class.”

“Fine. So, how exactly does this effect our relationship? Am I now the ‘other man’? Should I expect you to come back to the dorm after poking some girl?”

“No. Look, I’m sure I can work something out. Maybe a nice lesbian couple would be willing to bear my child.”

“Oh yeah, that’d be a good for the kid. Four parents; no, no. That’s not going to confuse the poor child.”

“Well, do _you_ have any suggestions?” Keith asked shortly.

“I heard there was this medical breakthrough recently where males can bear children. It’s based off of the genetic code of some...sea creature I think. Or perhaps it was a frog. Anyway, it’s highly experimental right now, but I bet that in a few years it’ll be common enough. We could try that.”

“You’d be willing to undergo a medical procedure that will enable you to have _birth_?”

“Oh no.” Lance shook his head vehemently. “You’d be the one giving birth. I’ve seen enough delivery vids to be scarred for life, thank you very much. Besides, you’d make the better mother. You can actually cook.”

Keith snorted. “Wuss.”

“Damn straight. Besides, I tend to think that it’s a good idea to stay away from medical procedures where the needle is the size of my hand.” Lance sobered, taking Keith’s hand in his. “But, yes, if it means that I get to keep you, than I would carry your child.”

“That’s so sweet.” Keith kissed Lance on the cheek, pulling Lance’s arm around his waist and snuggling closer. He tilted his head to rest it upon Lance’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's mostly because I've invested three years in this and I'm too lazy to go find someone else. So, I don’t have to worry about some hussy stealing you away, do I?”

“Nope. Well, unless you become a woman...But I would think that that occurrence would be one of the signs of the apocalypse.” Keith checked his watch again, then looked up at Lance. “You know, we’ve managed to stall long enough that going to class is going to be sort of pointless.”

“Really? Hmm...Want to just skip the rest of the day and go back to the room to continue what your parents interrupted?”

Keith grinned and let himself be steered back to their room.

~~~

Date: May 21, 6865 A.U.  
Location: Tudor Residency Hall, rm. 113.  
Cogdah Academy.  
Time: 0800 STG

Keith sighed as he packed his bags. His parents were gone on another mission and all that awaited him on New Earth was a lonely and empty house. Endings always depressed him, and the last two years had been...nice. Very nice.

 _Well, it’s done now, so no use getting all teary eyed over something that can't be changed._ Keith placed another perfectly folded shirt in his suitcase. _Moving on again. Isn’t there a song about this sort of thing? Or is it ‘On the Road Again’?._

“Hey.” Lance’s warmth settled on him, arms draped over his shoulders, impish face peering down at the packed clothing. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting ready to go home.” Keith shrugged Lance off and moved toward the dresser. Lance trailed after him, hurt by this sudden lack of interest.

“Oh. You do know that you’re always welcome at my house, right?” Keith nodded curtly and checked to see if he had packed all of his books. He would hate to loose a single one of them. Lance sighed and tried again. “Well, where’d you get posted?”

“Nemai.”

“Oh cool! Sven and I are going there too! Hey, maybe we’re in the same squad.” Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist, kissing his neck. “That’d be good, right?”

Keith stilled, then turned, eyes solemn and dark. “Lance, we need to talk.”

Lance sighed. “Oh Gods that doesn’t sound good.”

“Lance...Things are going to be different.”

“Yeah, no duh. We’re not going to be bound by Academy rules anymore.”

“No, there’s more than that.” Keith sighed and grabbed Lance’s face, forcing the young man to stare him in the eyes. “Lance, we’re going to be killing for a living now. There is nothing romantic, or simple about this. Lance, you have to understand that we are at war, now. There’s no more simulations, no more mistakes. This is real life, not a theoretical exercise. And we will really be hurt, and, in all likelyhood, we will really be killed or tortured as well. There are things out there...things that nobody should ever see, let alone experience; and we’re going to see and experience and live through them. There are going to be days when every inch of you is covered in blood, when there are corpses piled five feet deep and all you can think about is how good it would be to put your gun to your head and join those rotting, stinking bodies because they’re in a place that’s a thousand times better than what you are. There are going to be days when you’ll be the only survivor of your squad, and times when you’re going to have to kill people who look and act just like you -- may even be related to you -- and are fighting for a cause that you might believe in as well, but the Alliance doesn’t. There may even be times when you’ll be forced to kill you team members, because it’s better to give them a mercy kill than to let them suffer. You could be tortured, brutally treated and ignored by the Alliance because it’s easier for them to just forget you ever existed than try and get you out. And through it all, you’re going to have to be faithful to your oath as a soldier of the Alliance, be faithful to the principals of war, or be branded a traitor and killed by your team.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Keith, I understand. I’m not so naive as you believe. I know that what we’re about to go into is dangerous. I haven’t been slacking off _every_ minute of the past two years. I may not have your experience, but I know what war is, and I know what death is and I know what killing is. I think I can handle whatever the Alliance throws my way; and I have faith that the higher ups wouldn’t just toss green soldiers into the middle of a full-fledged war. There would be a shit-fest if we were treated as cannon fodder.”

“Oh.” Keith suddenly relaxed, a broad, relieved smile lighting his face. “Good.” He grabbed Lance’s arms and pulled the other boy close, burying his face against Lance’s chest. Lance tucked Keith’s head under his chin.

“So, do you want me to help you finish packing?”

Keith shook his head. “Just...just hold me for now. I want to remember peace.”


	16. Interlude

_Excerpts from: The Rise of the Military Complex  
A monograph by Daniel Woodsworth  
Of Planet Westford_

_Though there has always been a strong military presence in the Alliance, the Galaxy Garrison as we know it today did not evolve until the early 3000s. As crude and insensitive as it might be to say, the Fourth Plague was something of a godsend to the Alliance's military complex. The devastation and the breakdown of social order that followed the Plague required the institution of a military state. Only the army could both protect and mete out the supplies the Alliance had stockpiled against a disaster such as this. Once the plague passed, the people of the Alliance had grown used to the presence of a strong military force and didn't think to reduce its funding or personnel. This was a wise decision for, within a few short years after the end of the plague, another Ki’ir-ar rebellion broke out on Nemai. While dispatching soldiers to deal with the wild Ki’ir-ar, the heads of the Land, Sea and Space divisions of the Alliance Militia (as it was still known in those days) petitioned the Council to allow the A.M. to create permanent garrisons in the outer systems of the Alliance and to increase the size of their army. They used the recent bandit raids on Arus as evidence that the Alliance's military was too weak to adequately protect even the Founders planets. Rather than admit that the lack of aid for Arus was an intentional political ploy, the President of New Earth acceded to the military's request [...]_

 _[...] aftermath of the first encounter with the Lykorns was the final factor in the G.G.'s decision to create their Training Schools. Usurping the power of the Department of Education, the G.G. opened these preparatory academies all across the Alliance. The primary function of these schools was to alert the G.G. to potential military leaders and provide a basic military education [...] often included students from a multitude of Alliance planets as there was, generally, only one School in each sector [...]_

 _And for a while, this was as far as the G.G. Educational Program went. Those graduates who had military aptitude were funneled to various Academies to become foot soldiers or pilots or engineers, etc. There seemed to be no need for anything further; the Second Lykorn Invasion was driven back with ease, mostly due to the large population of trained soldiers. But with the Secession of Doom and the Third Lykron Invasion -- an invasion unmatched in ferocity even by the Karanthian Civil War, which almost tore the Alliance apart -- the G.G. found themselves hard pressed. Realizing that their traditional academies would not be enough to combat these terrifying enemies, the heads of the G.G. realized that they needed well-trained leaders faster than the academies could produce them. In an act of desperation, they created Cogdah Academy and their new plan: they would send children to war, bright children who would unfailingly lay down their lives for the Alliance, children trained as if they were adults, treated as if they were strong men who understood death. This is not the first time the Alliance has used children in battle, if the rumors of the Red Caps are to be believed. And while there have long been military schools targeted at the pre-University age-range, all of these schools were intended to funnel their students into a traditional Academy for further training. The Alliance needed soldiers who were ruthless and cunning, and they needed the soldiers fast [...] And so Cogdah, a four year training facility for youths 16-20, was founded; and every year since then, each child of the Alliance of the ages six, eight, twelve, fourteen and fifteen is given an aptitude test to see if they have those particular aptitudes that the G.G. prizes so highly [...]_


	17. Chapter 17

Date: February 17, 10034  
Location: Platform 3, Jasmine station,  
Los Angeles, California,  
New Earth, Primian Quadrant.  
Time: 2200 STG

Keith checked his watch for the fourth time in two minutes and gave an exasperated huff. He scanned the sea of heads, tapping his foot impatiently.

 _Damn it. He had better hurry up. If we miss the transport, I’m going to_ kill _him. This is_ no way _to start our month of leave._

“Hey!” Lance ran up to Keith, panting and grinning. “I’m here.”

“And where have you been?” Keith questioned, pulling away before Lance could give him a peck on his cheek.

“I needed gum. And then, I ran into an old friend.” Lance looked behind him, then sighed. “Hold on a minute, I’ll go get her.”

“No, Lance we-” Keith snapped his mouth shut as Lance disappeared back into the crowd. “Never mind. You go get her then.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Here she is!” Lance came back a young woman pulled along behind him. Keith felt his breath catch as the two stopped in front of him.

 _Kami...it’s a female Lance..._

A little smaller in stature, the girl that smiled at him looked so like Lance it was disturbing. The same sparkling brown eyes, the same waving brown hair, the same impish features...Keith had to physically force himself to look away, a rosy blush spreading across his cheeks. No woman had _ever_ made him stare. To be fair, no man had ever made him stare either.

Well, until he had met Lance of course.

“Keith, this is my cousin Aeris Ilyna. She’s part of the troupe of the _Black Lamb_. Aeris, this is Keith Tsumetai, my boyfriend.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.” Aeris smiled warmly and extended her hand. “I feel as though I know you already; Lance talks about you constantly.”

Keith smiled back and shook her hand. “Likewise. I’d love to stay and chat, but we really must be going. This baka,” Keith turned his attention to Lance, a frown settling on his face, “is going to make us miss our transport to Pelos. Now, come _on_ Lance. If we hurry, we can make the final boarding call.” Keith grabbed Lance’s hand and tugged him away, both of their duffel bags slung over his shoulder.

“Bye Aeris,” Lance called as he hurried after Keith.

Keith shuddered slightly at the name. There was something about the girl that disturbed him.

 _She may look like Lance, but she’s nothing like him inside. I’d stake my life on that._

~~~

Date: February 19, 10034  
Location: Kemas island, neutral waters  
Pelos, Emerald Quadrant  
Time: 0730 STG

Lance closed his eyes tight against the bright sun. Two days hopping transports to get to this somewhat remote quadrant had ruined even _his_ fun-loving disposition. He fished out his sunglasses and popped them on his nose before glancing up at Keith.

“So, we’re here. Now what?”

“Now we catch a boat.” Keith narrowed his eyes and peered through the clear Pelos air, a wide grin spreading across his face as he spied the promised craft. “There. Come on. You’re going to love it here. I have this great friend whose letting us stay with him on his island. There are these great waterfalls there, and these hikes...you can see forever from the top of the mountains.” Keith sighed, a dreamy, wistful smile on his face. “And the stars are so clear. And the air is so pure that it feels as though you can leap from the tress and fly.”

Lance sighed and followed the babbling Keith. _Typical. Two days of travel, next to no sleep, and_ he’s _going off about some island._ He grabbed his bag and followed Keith to the small, rickety looking _thing_ that Keith called a boat.

Lance sat down carefully, feeling grimy and disgusting and dreadfully envious of Keith who appeared even more beautiful in the planet’s warm sunlight. He glared at Keith, then settled in against the bags. He was so tired. Behind the sunglasses, his eye lids began to slip closed. _Perhaps just a_ little _nap..._

Within moments he was fast asleep.

~~~

It was two hours later when he awoke, confused and dazzled by the sun. He slowly sat up, blinking against the sun and wondering where his sunglasses had gone.

“Hey there, sleepy head.” Keith was grinning down at him, a black form against the brilliant blue sky.

Lance grunted and shaded his eyes with a hand, gazing up at the black shadow that was Keith in a dazed bewilderment. The boat bumped and rocked against a wooden dock, a gentle rolling motion that was soothing in its somewhat nauseous inconsistency. The dock opened out onto a deserted wharf, empty of life and full of barred and boarded buildings of grey weathered wood. For Lance, who had grown up in the country and had escaped to the city as soon as he could, it all looked incredibly boring.

 _What the hell are we doing_ here _?_ He glanced up at Keith who was busy paying the captain of the boat.

“Hey, great. Thanks.” Keith grabbed their bags and climbed out of the boat, sending the craft rocking. “C’mon Lance, time to get off.”

Lance groaned and followed with shaky, uncertain steps. He was already sick of this place, and they had only been on it for two hours. How he would survive the entire month he didn’t know. Keith smiled at him and turned to survey the wharf, looking for something -- or perhaps someone. He made a strange picture, his normally neat exterior rumpled and casual, relaxed and at ease. It was strange to see him so, but Lance supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, Keith had been _begging_ to go to Pelos, petitioning the higher ups for some leave for a long time. The whole scenario had Lance off balance enough that he had agreed without even thinking about _what_ he was agreeing to. Now if _he_ had been in charge of their vacation, they would be on some pleasure planet, engaging in some pleasantly debauched and depraved acts.

Lance grinned and glanced over at Keith, wondering how many people would notice if he abducted him and high tailed it off this miserable little planet to someplace better. A hotel, for example.

Keith was bent over a map, the paper crumbled and torn, grumbling to himself as he traced half-faded lines. The pair of sunglasses perched on his head -- _Lance’s_ sunglasses -- were perilously close to falling. “Damn it, he was supposed to meet us _right here_. Where the _hell_ did he run off to?”

Lance sighed and moved behind his boyfriend, resting a chin upon Keith’s shoulder. “And were, exactly, _is_ here. And why do _you_ have my sunglasses?”

“Because you were going to roll over onto them, that’s why. And here happens to be the only dock on Maluhia island, and since the boatman just left, you’re going to be here for at least another week -- that’s how long it’ll take for the next boat to come -- so don’t even _think_ about trying to leave.” Keith sighed and looked up, scanning the empty wharf. “My friend -- the one we’re staying with -- was _supposed_ to come pick us up.”

“Oh well. Hey, do you think there might be an airfield around here? Because if we hurry, I’m pretty sure that we can catch a transport to Bacchus III.”

“Nope. I guess we’ll just have to search out his house on our own.”

“Ahoy! Skipper!”

Keith looked up at the shout, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Never mind. There he is. Ahoy, Gilligan!” Keith strode down the dock towards the owner of the shout.

The man was about their age, and small and wiry. He ran -- no, glided -- towards them with a natural grace that made Lance’s mouth sour with envy. He brought to mind an image of a Jel’ar; delicate, graceful, beautiful and deadly. Lance felt his heart drop as he watch Keith and the man meet, hugging each other hard. He trailed despondently after his boyfriend, wondering who the other man was, and what hold he had on Keith.

Keith gestured impatiently, forcing Lance into a sort of half-jog -- though why he was jogging was beyond his comprehension -- until he came to a jolting halt next to Keith and the other man. “Lance, I want you to meet my dear friend Kes. Kes, this is my boyfriend, Lance Tiazone.”

Lance blinked. Kes...That name was familiar. “Nice to meet you,” Lance mumbled, shaking the other man’s hand. _Where have I heard that name?_

“Same here. C’mon, the flitter is this way.” Kes nodded toward the end of the wharf, pulling his two guests along with that nod. “Oh, by the way, I have your knife for you if you want it.”

Keith waved the offer away with fierce shake of his head. “No. C’mon, Kes, it hasn’t been _that_ long. Surely you remember that once I give something -- ”

“You give it for ever. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I remember. And don’t call me Shirley.” Keith groaned at the bad joke as Kes winked at Lance. “But, seriously, you need to take that damn knife back.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m always afraid that my wife will pull it out and gut me if I piss her off too much.” Kes shook his head. “I tell ya, Skip, _never_ marry a warrior princess. No matter how much shit you’d get into for refusing, it’s _bound_ to be better than life with one of them.” Keith began to laugh, a hearty, free laugh that caused Kes to scrunch his thin face into a petulant and beseeching expressing. “I’m not kidding, Keith! Living with her, well, it feels like I’ve been emasculated!”

“I’m sorry, Kes, but man, I’m _really_ going to need to hear _that_ story.” Keith calmed down, body loose and relaxed as they walked toward the vehicle. “So, what the hell took you so long? You used to be so prompt.”

Kes laughed slightly. “Yeah, well, you try being prompt with a wife. I had to go visit the in-laws, you know, make nice-nice; so I don’t get tossed into the volcano to appease the angry Gods. It took me _forever_ to get away.”

“Ha! So, the master finally met his match, eh?” Keith grinned and elbowed Kes in the side.

“Hey, I got out, didn’t I?” Kes led them to the small land craft, gesturing for them to hop in. After his guests had settled themselves in, Kes started up the engine, sending the craft skittering across the lush, tropical landscape. “You guys will be staying in the Lighthouse. Demari and I figured that we’d be nice and put you in a place some distance from the brats.”

“You have kids? You never told me that.” Keith kicked the back of Kes’ seat, grinning easily.

Lance sighed. _It’s going to be a long week. And if Keith keeps this up, I swear I’m cutting him off from the Lance lovin’_.

Keith heard his sigh and leaned over, lips just barely touching the gentle curve of his ear. Voice soft and sultry, he whispered, “There’s a hot tub up at the Lighthouse. What say we get in and get nasty? And I know a great make-out spot. Ever done it under a waterfall?”

Lance’s lips curved up in a slow smile. _Okay, I’ll wait it out. Maybe it won’t be so bad..._

~~~

Date: March 17, 10034  
Location: Maluhia island, Keminis waters  
Time: 1230 STG

 _Chest aching with strain, heart pounding, beating, heaving against ribs and soaring in the air so high so very high until only tree tops are below and the wind rushes past in breathless power as shoulders strain and hum and blood flows in liquid fire and higher, higher, higher ever higher toward the sun on wings of flesh and blood and it feels so good, better than anything else, better than sex, better than fighting, better than love, because it’s like being one with God, with the earth, with the stars and space and everything and nothing and it’s truly being alive, truly feeling, filled with this oneness, buoyed on golden wings until, suddenly, those wings are stained with blood, covered with blood, weighted and it’s harder to fly, harder to soar, it’s a struggle to reach the sun and then the wings are gone, only bloody stumps left, still beating but going no where, and there is only pain and loss and fear and shame and then falling, and falling, and falling harder and faster and pain from the air and faster and faster and the world is darker, and frightening and the screaming, screaming so loud so much so much and it never stops and all that’s left is fear and loss and wanting to die because life is dead, life is gone, there is no life without flying, no life without wings, no life at all and the screaming is louder and louder and the ground is ever closer and so barren and this is a fitting end, a fitting end because the wings have been lost, have been taken, and it’s right and nothing can stop the screaming and then --_

“Keith! Keith, wake up! Please, wake up. It’s just a dream. You have to wake up!”

Someone was touching him where the dream wings used to be and it hurt so much, the ghostly pain still there. Keith gasped, pulled himself out of sleep with a physical wrench, shivering, huddling in on himself, tears threatening behind his eyes but not falling -- he had never cried before and he wasn’t about to start now over some stupid dream -- body wracked by gasping breaths.

Warm arms wrapped themselves around him, rocked him back and forth in gentle, soothing motions. A head rested against his bowed back, voice soft in his ear, whispering nothings that soothed and calmed. Slowly, Keith felt himself come together, return to the present, to the warm bed and the warmer body beside him, and his too tense muscles released.

Shuddering, breath coming in slow, desperate gasps, Keith fell limp into Lance’s embrace, listening to the thrum of their hearts. Lance brushed back the wild bangs which clung to his forehead in sweat streaked clumps, kissing Keith’s neck and offering silent strength through the touch of skin to skin.

“Same dream?” he murmured. Keith nodded his head slowly, closing his eyes against the lingering, ghosting pain. “Shhh. It’s all right, now.”

“I don’t know why I keep having these nightmares.” Keith breathed out in a long sigh as Lance nodded and tightened his grip. Quiet peace, so different from the fear filled screaming which had ricocheted from the room’s stone walls only moments before, closed in around the two boys. But the silence grew too quiet, almost suffocating in the stillness, and Keith had been too close to suffocation in his dream to feel comfortable. Restlessly stirring, Keith slipped from Lance’s arms and out of the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked softly.

“I don’t know.” Keith sighed and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “I’m just too wired too sleep.”

Lance nodded. “Want to head down to the beach?”

Keith thought for a moment. “All right.” Lance smiled and stood, reaching out for Keith’s hand. Keith smiled back and kissed him on the cheek. “You know, I never really thanked you for doing this. I know that you weren’t that excited about coming here, and it means a lot to me that you stuck through the entire month.”

Lance shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. Pelos is actually a very nice planet, once you get used to it.”

“No, really Lance.” Keith pulled back on Lance’s hand, easing him to a stop. “This means a lot. I haven’t seen Kes since the accident and -- well, it means a lot to me. And I want to make it up to you somehow.”

“Well...we could take an unscheduled detour to Bacchus III,” Lance suggested, leering at Keith.

“No way, buddy. I don’t think my heart would be able to stand debauchery on that level.”

“Fine. Can I call you ‘Skipper’, then?” Lance grinned.

“Only if you don’t mind being called ‘Gilligan’ like Kes.” Keith smiled back, then paused as his eyes caught the glitter of moonlight on strings. The grin grew broader, almost mischievous. “Hey, grab your guitar. I’ve _just_ thought of the perfect way to thank you.”

“Okay, but -- ”

“Nope, not ‘buts’. Asses, perhaps, but not a single butt.” Keith grinned and tugged on Lance’s hand. “Now come _on_.” Then Keith glanced down at himself, wrinkling his nose at the sweat stains which darkened his clothes. “But first, a shower.”

Lance sighed and sat back down on the bed. Sometimes Keith could be _so_ infuriating.

~~~

There were two beaches owned by Kes. The main beach was wide and open, part of a long stretch of coast, and nearly public for the variety of people that used it. The second beach was below the lighthouse, a small cove surrounded by the ring of a coral reef. The cove was practically useless for most water sports; it was too small for large parties, too rocky in most areas for picnics, and the jagged edges of the reef promised an end to the hull of any boat larger than a two-man canoe -- the cove was rocky and unappealing in the extreme. However, hidden past the rocks, there was a second cove, a smaller one with crystal waters and a line of palm trees which swayed and danced in the wind. And -- while it too was useless for most things -- for two lovers, it was absolutely perfect.

The moon was just beginning its descent into the black ocean when Keith and Lance stepped onto the white sand. Theirs were the only footprints to break the gleaming strip, the only marks of man to mar this postcard scene.

Keith led Lance to the strip of soft grass which sprang at the base of the palm trees. He sat his boyfriend down, a slow, seductive smile on his face.

“Play,” he whispered.

“What?” Lance asked back.

“Anything. Something I can dance to.”

Lance sighed and opened his guitar case. Pulling the gleaming guitar from its bed of velvet red, Lance began to stroke the strings, summoning a slack-key melody. Keith grinned, nodding his head in approval. And then he began to dance.

There is something supremely erotic about the hula. Though surely not meant to be, the grace of the dancer conjures a heat that spreads through the body. There is something about the movement of arm and leg, head and body, that is sensual and alluring. And Keith had learned the art of this dance well, had learned how to speak a legend with his arms, with his legs and head and perfect, exact movements. He was entrancing, beautiful against the star studded sky, moonlight gleaming in his hair.

Lance could feel his mouth go dry, feel his blood rush with a sudden heat that turned his browned skin ruddy, eyes widen at the seductive, whirling dance performed for him. His fingers stilled, the music trailing to an echoing halt as the image of Keith consumed his attention. But it didn’t stop there, for Keith filled in the missing music with a low, thrumming, sultry song of his own. Lance swallowed as the dark, smoky voice spread over him, called him forward, raised him up from the stand to take step after halting step toward the singer.

Keith met him halfway, taking Lance into his arms, gently leading him in a dance to soundless music, the music of night and sea and blood. Their bodies twirled on the soft sand, a sensual melding of night and magic and flesh until the bodies sank lower and lower and melded closer with nothing in between until they were one undulating form of smooth skin against moon bathed sand.

~~~

Over time, Lance had noticed that Keith had a thing for hands. He loved to play with them, hold Lance’s hand up to his own and run his fingers over the long, tapering digits. Whenever they lay in bed together -- or anywhere else they happened to have sex -- Lance could count on exactly three things: cuddling, being tired and having Keith play with his hands.

Tonight was certainly no exception and he smiled into the dark mane of hair that rested on his chest as Keith began to stroke his hands. He closed his eyes, ready to sleep now and worry about the sand that would be in the most uncomfortable places tomorrow. However, as Keith stirred on his chest, Lance realized that tonight would be one of the talkative nights. That was the major difference between he and Keith; Keith often had _more_ energy after sex, instead of feeling like an empty sack.

“Hey Lance?”

 _And so it starts._ Lance bit back the sigh and hoped that this would be one of the short conversations. “Mm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Mm hmm. Love you too.”

Lance let himself release a long breath as that answer seemed to satisfy Keith. _Now maybe I can get some sleep._

“Hey Lance?”

Lance almost groaned, but reminded himself that patience was the key to dealing with Keith -- though the Gods knew how little he used patience. “Yeah?”

“Did you know that Holden started a betting pool on us getting married?”

Lance sighed and shifted. “Yes, I did. It’s up to fifteen hundred credits now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Keith grew silent, holding Lance’s hand up against his own. He stared at the appendages, at their outline against the star bright sky. “Lance, have you ever thought about marriage?”

Lance almost choked at the question. That was _not_ something he expected. “Well, yeah. Sort of. I mean, I know that I’m going to get married eventually.”

Keith sighed. “Not like that. I mean _really_ thought about it. Like, what the wedding day would be like, what type of ceremony, even what the ring is going to look like.”

“Nope, can’t say that I have, really.” Lance paused, tasting out the lie. “Well, actually, there _was_ one thing -- but you’ll think it’s silly.”

“No, no, tell me!” Keith sounded so excited about this that Lance almost laughed. It was nice to know that there was something other than war that could get Keith excited.

“Only if you promise to let me sleep afterwards.”

“Sure, sure. Just _tell_ me!”

“All right! Don’t have a hernia.” Lance did chuckle, before settling into a more contemplative mood. “I’ve always known what my wedding ring would look like. That’s the only part of a wedding that I’ve ever really thought about.” He shifted Keith’s warm body in his arms. “It’ll be gold, not expensive, but enough so that it’ll shine. And it’ll be made of roses, a band of twisting, twining roses, in a pattern; like the one on the arch to the Baths in Kaballa. But it won’t be big. Nothing ostentatious. Because this is a sacred bond and I want to keep it special; like a secret for two people alone.”

“That’s _it_?” Keith’s voice was filled with disbelief, as if the prospect of such a simple thing was beyond Lance’s imaginations.

“Well, yes.” Lance replied, slightly affronted. “I’ll have you know that you’re the only other person to know what my wedding ring will look like.”

“Hell, _I_ can make that,” Keith muttered to himself, voice almost lost beneath the crash of the waves. “Just need to get some tools...”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Keith sighed, then yawned. “Mm. It’s late.”

Lance chuckled. “Oh, you’ve noticed.”

“Shup, baka.” Keith grinned, then nestled further into the crook of Lance’s arm, eye closing to slits. “Look, the sun’s coming up.”

Lance looked up at the still dark sky and the slowly falling moon, all slowly disappearing behind the dull white glow coming from over the cliffs. _Strange...The sun shouldn’t be up for another couple of hours. I mean, we’re good but we’re not_ that _good. I don’t think we were at it for_ that _long._

He looked towards the light, frowning as it grew faster than it should have, increasing into a blinding whiteness that burned through his eyes with ever increasing pain. He felt Keith stirring, standing, even as he lay there, eyes screwed shut against the pain.

“Kami! Lance, it’s Lykons!”

“Shit!” Lance scrambled to his knees, searching for the guitar case. There were weapons in there. He heard Keith growling something, the soft snik of clothes being pulled on. Beyond those sounds, beyond the sound of surf and wind and birds awaken too early, was the noise of marching -- who knew how many squads were heading toward them, strapped in that damn armor, augmented by cruel scientists until they weren’t recognizable as any sort of flesh and blood creature.

His scrambling, searching hands connected with the hard case and he tore into the velvet lining, pulling out the hard metal laser. He could feel the vibrations of ground as the Lykon armored soldiers marched toward them. He forced his eyes open, tearing at the pain which stabbed straight to his brain. To his side, he heard Keith cursing, and then they were upon them.

Aiming with half-blind eyes, Lance tried to get to Keith, to protect him with his weapon. From the grunts and sounds of flesh hitting augmented flesh, it sounded as if Keith was holding his own -- at least for now. But there were so many of them. For everyone they put down, there were five to replace it. It was only a matter of time until they fell as well.

Surprisingly, the battle lasted far past Lance’s expectations. Still, when the end came, he wasn’t surprised. It was quick, which Lance appreciated. One moment he was firing upon the machine-men, then there was a sharp crack -- heard, not felt -- and a thick, warm liquid which flowed down his back, and screaming from two throats.

And then there was nothing.

~~~

Date: Unknown.  
Location: Unknown.  
Time: Unknown.

When Lance opened his eyes, he was greeted with an impenetrable blackness, darker than the blackness behind his eyes. This was the blackness of hell, the blackness caused by the total absence of light, absence of hope. This was despair, endless, senseless, mad. He was cut off from everything, stripped of sight and sound, from smell and speech, voice blocked by a heavy collar cinched painfully tight around his throat. He supposed that he should be grateful for the possession of his sense of touch -- the feeling of the icy wall against his back and the floor which numbed his legs gave him hope that he was still alive and not about to face Divine Judgment -- but even that was dulled and blunted, as though he was observing what someone else touched. The darkness that surrounded him ate at his mind and sucked at his sanity. This went beyond the mere absence of sight, for it infected at all his senses, and he screamed from a silent throat, wanting to retrieve even the smallest portion of his self. He flailed about, trying to make some noise, sense _something_ , anything that let him escape from the inward bent of his mind.

When something touched his shoulder, his heart almost stopped from shock. And then, there was light and sound and smell and taste and his brain nearly buckled under the sudden rush of sensation. He screamed and fell to the ground clutching at his head. There was too much going on, too many new things demanding attention; he felt _everything_ , heard everything, saw everything, unable to filter and control what he experienced. And it hurt, because his attention was suddenly fractured in five hundred different ways and his mind was stupefied by the rush of life that coursed through him. He struggled to control the chaos into which he had been plunged, before he shut down, drowned by everything about him.

Slowly, laboriously, he gained control over his body, filtered the information his senses feed to him into manageable doses, became aware of his surroundings and of the heavy hand which rubbed his back in comfort.

“Just take deep breaths, Lance,” Keith’s familiar, wonderful voice whispered. “Just breathe. You need to calm down.”

“I’m better,” Lance rasped, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He slowed his breathing, and looked around. They were in an empty metal chamber, surrounded by a darkness that was little better than the blackness he had just inhabited. The little light which spilled through the small barred window served only to make the darkness beyond the stripped patch even more impenetrable. The air around them tasted dry and thin and each breath rasped harshly against Lance’s throat. He shivered in the bone-numbing cold, wrapping his arms around his bare torso, each painful breath creating a white cloud before him. “Where the hell are we? And what happened to me?”

“You had an Inhibitor placed on you.” Keith kneeled back and held up the dreaded electric collar, black varnished metal just visible in the gloom. Lance shuddered and blessed the Gods that he was still sane after it’s removal. The foul thing was mostly used on slaves to keep them in line, its hidden circuitry capable of administering varying intensities of shocks -- as well as disrupting the wearer’s neural impulses.

 _No wonder we didn’t have any chains on. With that thing on our necks, they could have killed us in a nanosecond._ Lance swallowed, still feeling the ghostly pressure of the collar about his neck. _Wonder how Keith managed to get free of it. Those things are supposed to be impossible for the wearer to take off._

“I think,” Keith’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “that we’re in a cargo hold on a Lykorn slaver.”

“Fun.” Lance slowly stood, stretching out his legs. He cast a glance at his boyfriend, envying his apparent comfort in the damnably cold hold. “So what now?”

Keith turned toward him, and Lance gave a strangled gasp, stepping back instinctively; anything to get away from the glowing, red, demon’s eyes that had replaced the well known black pools.

“Holy shit! What the fuck happened to your eyes?”

“I ‘volunteered’ to have experimental night-vision installed by the Alliance doctors when I joined the Redcaps, to aid in our more...covert operations.” Keith laughed, low and dry and humorless. “Ahh, isn’t science fun?”

Lance shook his head violently, afraid, and Keith sighed. “Lance, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just some bio-mechanic augmentation. It’s not like I’m possessed by some demonic spirit. I’m not going to start puking split-pea soup. My head isn’t going to start spinning like a top. In fact, this might be able to get us out of here. Now help me figure out how we’re going to escape.”

Keith turned away to prowl the back of the cell, missing the slightly disturbed look on Lance’s face. “What more are you keeping from me, Keith?” Lance whispered. He stared after his boyfriend for a moment longer, before heading for the single window. He peered into the hallway, shivering and wincing as his skin touched the metal of the cell door.

“Lance, what do you have with -- shit!” Keith’s voice floated from the darkness, pulling Lance’s attention away from the empty corridor.

“What?”

“It’s Kes!” Muffled movement followed and Keith emerged from the darkness, half-carrying, half-dragging the other man. Their host was pale and thin, missing the collar that had trapped Lance and Keith in their own minds. He looked only moments away from death, listless and lifeless, a blasphemous mockery of life. It was as if he had been turned off, his body still working but his mind burned away.

“Lance hold him. He might be our only way out,” Keith snapped out, voice commanding and authoritative, brooking no argument.

“What? But-” Lance spluttered, reacting more to the voice than the command.

“But nothing.” Keith pushed Kes into Lance’s arms, forcing the limp form upright, then stepped out to look critically at his former squad member. “Come on Kes, snap out of it.”

He shook the smaller man roughly, hard enough for Kes’ head to snap back and forth. “Wake up! Damn it, pull yourself together, Kes! I _know_ you can hear me.”

“Demari...” Kes moaned, head lolling down.

“Demari? What about her, Kes. What happened?”

“Demari. Dead. All dead. All of them dead. My family is dead.” The escape artist sobbed softly, the tears streaking down his pasty face. “I watched them die. I couldn’t save them.”

“Shit.” Keith sighed and placed a hand over his eyes. “Great. Well, he’s not going to be much help.”

Lance stared at Keith in shock. “Is that all you can think about? Damn it, Keith, the man is your friend! His family was just slaughtered before his eyes! And _that’s_ all you can say? ‘He’s not going to be much help’?”

“Listen, Lance, we don’t have time to grieve right now. I’ve seen first hand what Lykorns do to their slaves, and let’s just say that being drawn and quartered would probably be a kinder fate. Demari and the children are dead, _we’re_ still alive! But we won’t be alive much longer if we keep hanging around here! So let’s get out while we can.” Keith pulled Kes away from Lance, manhandling him to the door, forcing him to stay upright. “Okay, Kes. Work your magic.”

“Can’t,” Kes whimpered. “Demari...”

Keith pulled Kes closer, mouth next to his ear. “Listen to me Kes. Demari wants you to help us get out of here, okay? Come on, buddy, don’t fail me now.”

Kes slowly nodded, vacant eyes gaining some modicum of focus. He stumbled to the door, leaning heavily against the smooth wall, fingers running up and down the barely acknowledged crack in that was the door. The zombie-like figure closed his hollow eyes, caressing the metal like it was a lover. His skinny, deft fingers probed each minute crevice, each hidden fissure. Then, his skillful fingers found the hidden controls and he gently eased it open, revealing the panel filled with buttons and switches to the four eyes that watched him.

Then he fell, like a marionette whose strings had been broken.

Keith grabbed him before he hit the ground, gently lowering his old friend to rest on the cold ground. He stroked the curly hair that covered Kes’ head, fondly smiling down on the broken man. “You did good,” he whispered, soothingly. “Rest now.”

Keith stood, the two collars in his hands, electronic locks held outward and sparking, blue light arcing and flashing from the metal teeth. “Stand back, Lance,” he ordered, advancing determinedly on the door.

Lance did as he was bid, stepping back to shield Kes’ body with his own, covering his eyes as Keith slammed the collars into the panel. The cell exploded into shower of white sparks, too bright to stand, burning where they touched flesh, sending the smell of cooking meat waving through the recycled air and a thick, choking smoke that spread outward in a malevolent cloud. It filled the chamber and flowed through the blackened hole left by the door as it fell from its electronic locks.

Lance swallowed against the pain, ignoring the burns that covered his chest and rushed for Keith, heart constricted in panic.

“Keith! Keith, are you all right?”

“Yeah. Pretty much, anyway.” Keith emerged from the smoke, coughing and gasping, body an angry red of burned flesh. Lance reached out to gently touch the shiny red marks and Keith hissed, pulling away. “Don’t touch. It hurts, but I’ll be all right. How’s Kes?”

“Not moving again, but otherwise fine. Look, Keith -- ” Lance stopped as Keith brushed past him, heading for Kes’ inert body. “Fine. Ignore me,” he grumbled before following.

Keith knelt beside the still form, one large hand gently placed on Kes’ small, thin shoulders, red eyes searching his old friend’s face. “Kes?” His voice was thin and shaky, questioning and lost. “Kes?”

The younger man opened his empty eyes and stared long and hard into Keith’s face, features tensed in concentration as if fighting his way back from a long distance. Slowly, the tension eased, some small light of remembrace returning to the empty eyes. “Keith?”

Keith nodded slowly, hand tightening on Kes’ shoulder.

“Do it.” Kes’ head lolled back, eyes losing their spark once more.

Keith nodded again, slower this time, hand leaving Kes’ shoulder to come shaking down to his side. Eyes never leaving Kes’ face, Keith softly spoke to Lance. “Leave. Now. Try to find the control center. I’ll catch up with you.”

Lance stubbornly shook his head. “No way. I’m not going to let the Lykorns kill the both of you.”

“Damn it, Lance, just leave! Wait outside if you must, just leave!”

“Fine.” Lance made as to move through the door, but faded instead into the darkness of the cell. He watched, silent and still, as Keith sighed and bowed his head, body motionless, demeanor that of a kneeling petitioner. His hands moved over Kes’ still body, flitting here and there, probing what remained of the other man’s clothing until, with a sigh, he removed a sheathed blade.

“Oh Kes...Why this blade?” The voice was full of weary pain, and Keith slumped, looking drained. “I’m sorry, my friend.” He slipped the knife from it sheath, turning the winking blade over and over in his hands.

It was a tanto blade, delicate and beautiful, handle a brilliant scarlet and very familiar to Keith’s hands; after all, the blade had once been his. There was no doubt that this blade was sharp, for the edge was tapered so thin that it almost disappeared in the air. Keith shook as he heaved a deep sigh. He reverently placed the blade on the ground, before lifting Kes’ small body into his arms, cradling the young man against his burned chest.

“I wish you peace in your next life, _mea ashke_ ,” Keith whispered, picking up the knife. He tightened the arm that cradled Kes, holding the other man closer to his chest.

 _No...Gods, he’s not going to..._ Lance swallowed, suddenly sick and not wanting to see any more of this frightening side of Keith. Shuddering, he slipped from the cell, not caring if Keith saw him there or not, and waited for his suddenly unknown boyfriend outside.

A sharp intake of breath was the only sign that Kes had left this life.

Keith emerged moments later, holding the cleaned tanto blade in his hand. Lance tried not to look at the bloodly streak which stained Keith’s pants.

“Keith-” he began.

“It was necessary. Now, come. We don’t have much time.” Keith strode down the hall, straight backed and commanding, owtardly unchanged by his gruesome deed. Lance trailed hesitantly behind, unnerved and frightened.

 _When I outlive my use to you, will you do the same to me?_

~~~

Date: May 23, 10034  
Location: GG Headquarters, 1534 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0930 STG.

It had been three days since their...triumphant return from imprisonment on a Lykon Strafing-craft and the hubbub was only now dying down. Which Lance found a little unfortunate, for it now meant that he would be alone with Keith more and more. He was still wary about his lover’s mental state, plauged with nightmares of being gutted by Keith, his boyfriend’s calm voice whispering to his ear that it wasn’t personal -- just necessary.

Still, the nightmares were countered by how Keith acted in public, still the loving and wonderful man that Lance remembered; in fact, he was more caring that Lance remembered, as if their imprisonment had strengthened their love, instead of shaken it. During the day, Lance could lie to himself and pretend that it had only been the situation that had caused Keith to act as he did, that it had been some temporary insanity which had allowed Keith to kill his oldest friend.

For Keith, the imprisonment had given him a whole new set of scars to ignore, a whole new set of torments to plauge him at night. Though he succesfully hid how much Kes’ death had meant to him from Lance, believing himself weak for being so shaken, he couldn’t hide it from himself. Though he rationalized it as best he could, knowing that it had been a correct tactical descision to kill Kes before the Lykorns found them, knowing that Kes had _wanted_ Keith to kill him, it still made it no easier for the piolt; it still didn’t ease the guilt he felt. He wanted to leave New Earth, to return to battle where he could cleanse himself by killing the enemies of his people. He _needed_ to purge Kes’ death from his soul, to take out the anger which filled him on something, anything, to distract his mind from the new phantom that haunted him. That was why he found the new command by the Alliance heads so irksome.

“Three months grounding for debreifing? What the hell are we going to do for three whole months!” Keith groused as he and Lance strolled down the hall. “Three months!”

“Let it go, Keith. I’m sure you’ll find out something to do. Now _me_. I’ve got to put with your whining _and_ being stuck on Terra for three months.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Welcome back!” Nanaki came bounding up to them, lion’s face split into a broad smile. He slowed down to pace abreast of them, limping from a war wound that had destroyed a back leg. “So, what are the great war heroes going to be doing now?”

Lance snickered. “Drive the rest of the world crazy with whining about how much being on leave sucks?”

Nanaki snorted. “You guys are the _only_ people I know who complain about being on leave.”

“Well, do you have any suggestions to alleviate the boredom?” Keith almost snapped.

“If you ask like that, then no.” Nanaki sniffed and turned his head away.

Keith sighed. “Sorry. It’s just...it’s been a long day. Or week. Or year.” Keith rubbed his face. “I’m just tired.”

“All right.” Nanaki turned quiet, contemplative. “Well...there’s not a whole lot going on right now. You could try teaching -- you’d make a great war tactics instructor, Keith.”

Keith shook his head. “No. I don’t think I could deal with rookies on a daily basis.”

Nanaki appraised Keith again. “Yeah. I think you’d kill them all. Let's see… You could try your hand at the arts. Or perhaps go back and take a few classes. Oh, I know!” Nanaki turned to Lance. “Your cousin, Aeris, is in a production of “ _Much Ado About Nothing_ ” at the _Black Lamb_. Why don’t you go say hi? I’m sure she has something for you boys to do. They always need help at the theater.”

Lance’s eyes lit up at the mention of his cousin’s name. He turned to Keith, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, love, can we?”

Keith smiled fondly at Lance. “Koibito, I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and moreover I will go with thee to see thy cousin.”

Lance laughed and smacked Keith on the arm. “Ham.”

~~~

Date: May 23, 10034  
Location: _Black Lamb_ , 165 Laman St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
Time: 0940 STG.  


“Yeah, well fuck you too! We don’t need you!”

Keith pulled Lance out of the way of the young man who stormed out of the building, face red with rage. The pages of a script fluttered behind him and the two boys watched him go with confusion.

“Aeris-”

“What!”

“You’ve just screwed us all over. We need a Benedick.”

“FUCK!!!”

“Perhaps we should come back later,” Keith suggested to Lance, all set to leave.

“No, no. We should go check it out.” Lance gestured towards the door with his head, demanding that they enter the theater. Keith sighed and wheeled his boyfriend in.

The inside of the theater was...bizarre, to say the least. The stage was covered in a half-finished scenery. The actors lounged on the stage and in the audience, a strange mishmash of clothing and colors. And in the very center was the female Lance, Aeris Ilyana, face in the same petulant scowl that Keith had seen so many times on his boyfriend. The sharp gaze pinned him, and Keith swallowed, hoping no one saw his nervousness.

Lance stood straighter, puffing his chest out, a broad smile on his face. “Hey, Aeris!”

“Yes, what do you want?”

“Now Aeris, is that any way to treat your favorite cousin?”

“Favorite cousin? Is Stefano hiding back there?” Aeris grinned and jumped off of the stage to stride toward them. “Stef? You back there?”

“Oh ha, ha.” Lance stuck his tongue out at Aeris. “I’m sure you remember my boyfriend.”

“Yep. Nice to see you again.” Aeris shook Keith’s hand, then turned back to Lance. “Shit, man, what the hell did you do to yourself?”

Lance laughed, truly delighted by his cousin’s ignorance, delighting in the opportunity to embellish the tale yet again. “Aeris, you must be the only person I know who hasn’t heard the story.”

“Yeah, well, _you_ try getting a performance of some ancient Earth _Prime_ playwright off the ground.” Aeris sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “And now we don’t even have a Benedick.”

“Well, what about Keith?”

Keith started, staring at Lance in wide eyed horror. “What? No! Lance-”

“Oh, come on Keith, it’ll be fun. You’ve already memorized the entire works of this guy. And you’re such a ham, this role would probably be perfect for you.”

“But-” Keith opened his mouth, but no words would come out, for Aeris was circling him now -- prowling really -- peering at him as though he were a piece of meat, appraising him for the market. He swallowed, suddenly dreadfully uncomfortable.

Finished with her inspection, Aeris returned to the front, a shrewd, though slightly bored, expression on her face. “Not bad...But can he act, that’s the big question. We’ve already got a hot guy for the roll of Claudio. We need someone with _real_ talent to play Benedick.”

“Can he act,” Lance scoffed. “Please. My boyfriend can put _all_ of you to shame. Go on, Keith. Show them your talent.”

“Lance I-”

“Please?” Lance turned his face to Keith, eyes wide and shining.

“That’s not fair! You know I can’t resist puppy-dog eyes!” Keith sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, conjuring up an appropriate speech. Closing his eyes, he began, slipping into a character that he knew well from a hundred, thousand hours spent reading his voice.

 _“O, she misused me past the endurance of a block! an oak but with one green leaf on it would have answered her; my visor began to assume life and scold with her. She told me -- not thinking I had been myself -- that I was the prince's jester, and that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon jest with such impossible conveyance upon me that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army shooting at me. She speaks poniards, and every word stabs; if her breath were as terrible as her terminations, there were no living near her; she would infect to the north star. I would not marry her, though she were endow’d with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed: she would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have cleft his club to make fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would to God that some scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon purpose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror and perturbation follows her.”_

Opening his eyes, he found Aeris staring at him with an unnameable glint in her eyes. Shifting uncomfortably, he looked away, training his sight upon the half-finished set which littered the stage.

“Well,” he mumbled, “what did you think?”

“I think that you’re our new Benedick.” Aeris smiled a slightly predatory smile.

Keith smiled weakly back, but in the back of his mind, he screamed.

~~~

Date: July 21, 10034  
Location: Officer housing, 1213 Lilan Ave.  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
Time: 1845 STG.  


Lance sat in the dark, slowly losing his mind.

 _This can’t be happening. Not to me. Not with Keith. He would never...But then...Why_ her _? Why did you have to chose_ her _Keith?_

Lance shuddered, the tears threatening but not quite falling. It was true that he had been having a few doubts about their relationship ever since they had been imprisoned, but he had never thought that something like _this_ , something so drastic, would happen to him -- to them. He had even thought that they were pulling through, working their way past the horrors of they Lykorn ship. They were almost there, almost as they had been. And then Keith pulled something like this and shattered their world.

 _He’s leaving me. I can’t believe the bastard is leaving me._

It hurt. A lot. And Lance knew that he should have seen it coming. After all, Keith had been coming home later and later as the play progressed, and he started looking _too_ neat. He hadn’t been so perfectly dressed since the beginning of their second year in the field. And he always smelt clean, freshly washed -- with a shampoo that wasn’t his.

Then there was the play itself. Everyone who saw it always said how great it was, how wonderful Keith and Aeris were, how great their chemistry was on stage -- you couldn’t fake _that_ sort of chemistry. Everyone said it was obvious that there was something romantic going on between them.

 _I should have seen this. But, Gods, couldn’t you have had the decent courtesy to break up with me before you proposed to her, Keith?_

If he had seen this coming earlier, if he hadn’t been so blind, maybe he could have fought it, fought for them. Now, it was too late. All he could do now was be a gracious loser and back away, leave them to their happiness.

Eyes stinging with hot tears, throat closed by the pain of his sorrow, Lance gathered his things, removing his belongings from this temporary home. With one last look at the now spartan house, he turned and walked away, fading into the shadows.

~~~

Date: July 21, 10034  
Location: Officer housing, 1213 Lilan Ave.  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
Time: 1900 STG.

Keith was whistling when he entered the house, flushed with the success of the last performance. He slipped off his shoes and floated in on a euphoric high that had nothing to do with acting and more with the small, black box that thumped against his thigh.

 _I really should thank Aeris for being so nice, letting me practice on her and use her metal shop. Oh Kami, I can’t believe I’m going to do this._ A large and somewhat loony grin took up a place on his face at the thought of what he was about to do. _I_ really _hope I don’t screw this up. Okay, Keith. Breathe, just breathe. Remember that speech Aeris helped you work out. Besides, if all else fails, you can just put hand it to him and let him read that letter._

He opened the door, and stepped into his temporary home, a little worried by the darkness that greeted him. “Lance? Lance you here?”

 _Strange. He should be home by now._ “Lance?”

Keith dropped his keys onto the table, and flicked on the lights. He sucked in a breath at the emptiness that greeted him. There were no clothes on the floor, which disturbed him. It wasn’t like Lance to clean up. Still, the few knickknacks which normally decorated the shelves -- the result of a buying spree by Lance when they had first moved in -- were still there, though. Keith sighed and moved into the bedroom. Perhaps Lance was just asleep.

But the bedroom was empty as well. Keith sighed and sat down on the bed. Something crinkled beneath him, and with confusion, he pulled out a small, wrinkled piece of paper. “What -- ?”

 _Keith-_

 _Sorry to do this to you this way, but I believe that it’d be better if I left as soon as possible. I just don’t love you anymore. Please try to understand; we’ve grown too far apart. Goodbye._

 _-Lance_

Keith stared down at the note, not quite believing it. But there it was, permanent, mocking in its plain coldness. He could feel his heart breaking, feel his soul crying out in pain.

And he cried. For the first time in his life, he cried. He cried until he was sick, cried until he couldn’t cry anymore.

Then he went out and got completely, roaring, falling down drunk.


	18. Interlude

_** CONFIDENTIAL: PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE ** _

_DATE: June 16, 1003_

 _TEST SUBJECT: Tsumetai, Keith S._

 _SUBJECT NUMBER: 01-36-95_

 _ANALYSIS: [...] A dangerous man, with a dangerous mind. He does not see his enemies as Sentients and, when coupled with his extreme reflexes and natural ability to kill, he makes an indispensable asset. There is the mentality of a serial killer beneath the veneer of civilization [...] He posses the ability to take commands well and has a natural charm that would make him the perfect leader [...] There appears to be an underlying belief that the living are a disease upon the universe [...] [there is] a strong undercurrent of a scholar to him and perhaps when he has outlived his usefulness upon the battle field he should be put to use as an instructor in the academy. He shows signs of compulsive neatness and a reticence to divulge personal information -- he has a highly advanced resistance to torture and telepathic probing has proved futile. There appears to be a pain-linked psychological need to belong to the Alliance. He also experiences grave discomfort when breaking a rule. However, there is also a great flexibility to him; he has very few qualms about bending or working around rules. He does not hesitate to use every measure of his skill to defeat an opponent, but does have an inflexible sense of honor -- he will not cheat in anything unless he can do it in such a fashion that he is technically allowed to. He does posses the ability to compromise his moral code when faced with a direct order._

 _His reflexes and reaction time, as well as responses to certain stimuli lead to the assumption of augmentation of some form; it is advisable to ignore any irregularities found during genetic testing at this time, for such augmentation may prove to be useful on the battle field [...]_

 _[...] It is advisable to place the subject with test subject_ Tiazone, Lance G _, number 01-42-77. There appears to be a calming or comforting factor involved in their relationship and test subject Lance inspires him to greater performance levels._

 _RECOMMENDATION: Specials Unit._


	19. Chapter 19

Date: July 21, 10039 A.U.  
Location: Castle of Lions, Fifteenth Floor,  
Communication Room C.  
Arus, Diamond Quadrant.  
Time: 1915 STG

“...And that’s pretty much what happened.” Pidge sighed and shook his head. “Most of it’s accurate, well up to about five years ago. Keith and Lance told me the stuff in letters over the years. After that, though, it was mostly drunk duty with Lance.”

“Not Keith?” Allura questioned.

“Keith gets violently ill when he drinks.” The voice that responded was not Pidge’s; it was too raw and low, harsh in tone and resigned in spirit to be the man-child. “Always has, always will. He can’t hold his liquor even if his life -- or twenty credits -- depends upon it.”

Pidge and Allura started guiltily at the voice, turning to stare at Lance as he walked into the room. Pidge swallowed and glanced at Allura for support. Allura shook her head almost minutely, and Pidge glared at her, vowing to get her back for putting him in this situation.

“Uh, hey Lance. How...how much did you hear?” Pidge smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner.

“Enough.” Lance sat down in one of the chairs that swung out from the communication station. He smiled a bitter smile at Allura, one that was full of a self-hatred. “So now you know the whole sordid mess that is my life.”

“Not quite. I still don’t know why you came here with all this...history between you and Keith.”

“That’s because Sven and those bastards in the G.G. tricked me into this mission. I didn’t know that Keith was the officer in charge until he walked into the room -- I was under the assumption that Sven was the OIC. And since it was too late to transfer, I was just sort of...stuck.” Lance sighed. “I’m actually surprised Keith and I got along for as long as we have.”

“I’m more surprised you didn’t transfer out as soon as you could,” Allura commented, a little dryly, finding it hard to believe that Lance’s reasons for staying were purely bureaucratic.

“Well, you know, what with one thing and another, it was just...easier that I stay rather than have another pilot come out with and learn how to use the Lions all over again,” Lance hedged, obviously uncomfortable.

“According to Sven," Pidge said, "the whole reason that Keith was posted here was for punishment. He never told me what for, but apparently Keith seriously pissed off the Alliance heads.”

“Keith? The Alliance Golden Boy? I have trouble believing that.” Lance shook his head. He pulled out a small golden ring and looked at it with a mixture of longing and loathing, turning the intricate, gleaming band over and over in his hands.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” Allura commented, casting desperately for something to make Lance feel better.

“It’s not mine,” the bitter man replied. He continued to turn the ring, gazing at it intently. When he spoke, his voice was low and almost calm, but falsely nonchalant as if he was striving for that calm. “Oh, by the way Pidge, do you know what ‘Tu amo in saecula saeculorum’ means?”

“Yeah, I think that’s Latin. It means, uh, ‘I love you into the generation of generations.’ Or to put it more succinctly, ‘I love you forever.’ Why?”

“No reason.” Lance’s face became twisted, even more bitter and angry at some unnamable thing as he shoved the ring violently into the pocket of his jacket. Allura looked away, out of courtesy for her friend.

“So, what are we going to do?” she asked. “What’s the battle plan?”

Pidge and Lance just shrugged in response. Allura sighed and furrowed her brow, trying to think of what they could do to save their friend. A heavy silence descended, full of dark thoughts and ignored depression. The soft chime that announced a visitor at the door was out of place in this dark atmosphere.

The three of them looked up as the door slid open, wondering who would dare disturb their thoughts, frowns descending upon the Arus soldier that entered. The young woman appeared confused and hesitant, almost apologetic in her manner.

“Pardon me, Princess, but there is someone here to see Captain Keith.” The guard smiled and bowed slightly, as if to excuse both herself and her visitor. And when she stepped away, Lance knew why.

“You,” he growled low in his throat, hands clenching and unclenching in rage. He was halfway across the room before he realized he had even left his seat, a murderous gleam in his eyes as he advanced towards the stranger. Pidge and Allura hastened to restrain him, struggling to pull him back to the communication table.

The woman who had inspired this homicidal episode looked at the assembled pilots calmly, and as Allura finally took her in, she gasped. It was Lance -- female, and a little harder around the eyes, perhaps, but Lance none the less.

“Who are you?” Allura whispered in confusion.

“My name is Aeris Ilyana Tsumetai, Keith’s wife. And my son wishes to see his father.”

~~~~

Location: Lion’s Mane Inn, Foran St.  
Asal, Lecub.  
Time: 1915 STG

Sven reached out blindly for the decanter again, needing the burning pain that the brandy brought. He could still think, could still feel, and that just wasn’t acceptable at this point. He needed oblivion, needed to forget...forget...well, he needed forget _something_ ; he just couldn’t remember what it _was_ he had to forget right now.

His searching hand found the crystalline container, and he raised his head to cast bleary eyes upon the dancing object. With trembling hands, he raised it up, trying to make the multiple cups stand still long enough for him to pour another glass.

A large hand -- or were there three? -- landed on his own, comforting in its warmth and solidarity. Sven looked up, squinting to focus, the world swimming violently around him.

 _Maybe I don’t need another drink_ , he slowly thought. The only problem with that was that if he could still think he _definitely_ needed another drink. “Pash ze brandy,” he slurred.

“No. No more for you, Sven. If you drink any more, I think you’re going to die from liver failure.”

“Ahh, c’mon. Jush one more?”

“No.” A face swam into Sven’s vision, large and concerned. “No more. Come on, buddy. Let’s get you to bed before you drown yourself.”

Strong arms lifted him up, cradled him comfortably, easily against a broad, warm chest. Sven vaguely remembered being held like this, long, long ago, a soft, deep voice singing in his ear.

“Pappa?” he questioned softly, hopefully. _No. Pappa’s dead._ So who was the other man who had ever held him so, the only person he had ever allowed to hold him so. “Keith?”

“No, sorry. It’s just me, Hunk.”

“Oh.” Disappointed, Sven slumped back down, suddenly very, very tired. He closed his eyes, swallowing bitter tears, hating himself for being so drunk. He was weak when he was drunk. He thought too much, felt too much, _knew_ too much about himself. All the dark secrets, all the hidden parts of his soul sprang out at him when he was drunk, and he could no longer hide from them, keep them away with glib words and false hopes.

His soul gaped wide before him, and it was not a pretty sight.

“Let me down.” Sven pushed at the warm chest, writhed in the strong arms, wanting, _needing_ to be released. “Now. Let go!” He was beginning to panic, feeling too constrained, too trapped. “Please...”

The large arms released him, gently placing him upon the floor. “What’s wrong, Sven?” One of the large hands reached out to steady him, help him, as he stumbled.

“Leave me alone! Go away!” Sven looked at the twisting, spiraling world with fear, eyes wild and rolling. Everything was so distorted, so strange and horrible. “Go away!”

“Sven!” The hands reached out again, and Sven tried to bat them away, staggering forward with a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, sick at himself, at his actions. Oh God, it felt like he was dying all over again, like he had been run through once more. But this time, there were no friends to save him, to heal him. This time he was alone, he was fighting an enemy that he could not win against; and there were no friends left to who _would_ help him this time -- he was abandoned, again, just as he always had been.

And why? Why was he abandoned? What made him so easy to cast aside? Did he have some sort of inherent flaw, something deeply wrong within him that marked him forever as someone who didn’t matter, someone who never needed love, or affection, or comfort of any sort? Was he to be destined forever as someone else’s trash?

“I hate them.” Thrown away forever. “I hate them!” Cast aside. “I _HATE_ them!” Abandoned. Again. Forever. “I _HATE_ THEM!! _”_

“Who? Who do you hate?”

“Both of them. I hate you! D’you hear me? I _hate_ you!” The pain was being burned away by anger, the alcoholic haze was being burned by his rage, and he stood straighter, eyes angry, soul twisting in hate. “I hate the both of you! You abandoned me first, damn it! _You_ left _me_!”

“Who? _Who_ left you? Tell me, Sven.”

“Keith. Lance. Both of them. All of them. They all left me, they all abandoned me.” Sven slumped forward, shoulders sagging, his angry energy leaving him. “I loved you? Don’t you understand that? I loved you! I have never loved _anyone_ as much as I loved you.”

“What? Who? _Keith_?”

“No! No, Keith took him away, _stole_ him away.” Sven was sobbing now, the salty tears dripping unchecked down his cheeks. “Took him before I even knew what he was taking. Lance! Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you see? Why?”

Those warm arms folded themselves around him, cradled him against that comforting chest, gentle hands stroking themselves down his back in slow, simple strokes and he whimpered. “Lance...”

“Shh. Shh.” Hunk looked down at his sobbing friend, kissed the smooth, dark hair. “Shh. I know. I know.”

~~~

Location: Castle of Lions, Fifth Floor,  
Audience Chamber  
Time: 1920 STG

Lance glared at his cousin, his betrayer, hands itching to go for his gun and destroy that oh-so-similar face. If only Allura hadn’t stripped him of his weapons...

“So, Mrs. Tsumetai,” Allura smiled as gently as she could, trying to put the stranger at ease; though truth be told, Aeris was actually making _her_ feel uneasy. “What, uh, what brings you to my planet?”

“I told you. My son wants to see his father. Where is Keith, anyway? I’m surprised he isn’t here to give me a...proper welcome. He knew I was coming after all.” Aeris smiled, almost viciously, eyes daring Lance to do something, anything. Lance just growled, low and threatening, hands turning white as the gripped the table top.

“He’s been...detained.” Allura’s face was beginning to hurt, the polite, diplomatic smile growing harder to maintain the longer she spent with both Aeris and Lance in the room.

“Too bad. So, Lance, how’s life been for you?” The smile on her face grew more vindictive, eyes narrowing to sharp points as they focused on Lance, pinned him. “Everything okay? Been...sleeping well?”

“Why do you care?” Lance rasped out, hate dripping from every syllable.

“Because I’m your cousin of course! I’m _supposed_ to care about my family. And you _are_ family.” Aeris’ voice trembled slightly, bitterness seeping into her words though her tone was still light. “How does that make you feel, Lance? Knowing that you’re related to Keith? Does it make up for the lonely nights, for the lost warmth? No?

“What about your love life? Been getting enough ass since you left Keith? Hmm? I know _Keith_ has been satisfied. Mmm, he’s an _animal_ in bed. So strong. So...demanding. Oh, but I guess you knew that already didn’t you.” Aeris leaned forward, vicious smile pasted across her face and Allura shuddered, glad that expression had never found its way to Lance. “Tell me Lance,” she almost purred the words, “do you fantasize about Keith when you’re alone? Do you pretend that _he_ is the one fucking you when you’re sleeping with your one night stands? Does it make it better for you?”

“Shut up. Just shut up!” Blood was beginning to seep from Lance’s palms as they were sliced open by the table’s edge. He trembled with suppressed anger, breath coming in heavy gasps. “Why are you doing this, Aeris? Aren’t you satisfied yet? You’ve already destroyed my happiness. Why twist the knife further?”

“Why? Because I’ve been living in hell for the past five years, _that’s_ why!” Aeris slumped back into her chair, face weary and lined, aged beyond her years. “Do you have _any_ idea how horrible it is to live with Keith? Do you know what it’s like being stuck in a loveless marriage because of a stupid mistake? Damn it, Lance, if you hadn’t run off like that, _none_ of us would be stuck in this mess.” She wasn’t even bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice now, every word angry and tired. “Oh sure, it was nice at first. I mean, Keith’s a great guy and all, a proper gentleman and all that crap. But it was all so...bland, so proper. I haven’t fucked properly in four years! Not since that night, anyway.”

“What the FUCK are you talking about? What mistake? Damn it, Aeris, don’t play any more fucking games with me, or I swear by Samas’ beard that I’ll kill you and leave your carcass to the crows.”

“Sirao! No need to get so dramatic.” Aeris shifted in her seat, glaring at Lance. “Fine. Right. So, that night you ran off for no apparent fucking reason, Keith got completely smashed, okay? So, he was at the bar that we were holding that night’s cast party at, and, being the friend that I am, I went over to talk to him. I mean, he was supposed to be proposing right then, you know. I’d even helped him, let practice on me, given him the key to the theatre’s metal shop, even let him use my shower! Sirao, this was supposed to be a special day for you two, you know. He was supposed to be doing...well, whatever the two of you do when you’re alone. Not in this bar getting totally smashed.” Aeris paused intensify her glare.

“That’s when he told me you’d given him this _note_ telling him that you didn’t love him anymore. Man was _he_ depressed. He supposed to be proposing to you, not getting drunk out of his gourd.” Aeris sighed. “Man, I’ve _never_ seen him so drunk. So, I take him back to my place, meaning _only_ to keep him from doing something stupid like killing himself, and he starts kissing me, and fumbling with my clothes -- ”

“And you slept with him, and converted him to the straight side, is that right, Aeris?” Lance was too calm, too controlled.

“Not quite. True I slept with him -- ”

“Why? You _knew_ he was gay! He was _my_ boyfriend, for Laran’s sake!” Lance was almost out of his seat and Allura’s hand on his arm the only thing keeping him from jumping across the table and strangling his cousin.

“Lance, honey, _everybody_ wanted to sleep with Keith. He was like a fucking God! I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity to jump his bones.” Aeris sighed. “I honestly thought that this was supposed to be a one night stand, a pity fuck. It _certainly_ didn’t help that he called out your name. _That_ did wonders for my self-esteem. Besides, some healthy sex is by far and away better than blowing your brains out.

“Anyway, the next morning he leaves after I manage to convince him he did _not_ ‘force himself on me’ and I think that’s that. I keep an eye on him for you, make sure he’s eating properly and all -- hey, I was still _both_ of your friends back then, all right? -- and everything’s just fine and dandy. Then I go visit my doctor, and what do you know, turns out I’m fucking pregnant!

“So, I go and tell Keith -- which was a big mistake -- he pulls this ‘honor’ shit on me, and wham, bam, we’re married with a kid. And I spend the next five miserable years trying to convince him to get a divorce.” Aeris sagged back into her chair. “Which is why I’m here now. I managed to convince that straight-laced bastard that a divorce was okay and all I need him to do now is sign the papers, take his kid, and I’m free.”

“You're just abandoning your son?” Allura asked in shock. “What kind of mother are you?”

Aeris glared at Allura. “A crappy one, all right. Look, you like the kid so much, _you_ take him. He’s out in the hall.”

“I’ll go look after him,” Lance said, standing. “I don’t think I can take much more of this bitch anyway.”

Allura touched him on the arm and gave him a smile, a real one, silently pleading with him to calm down. Lance took a deep breath, sucking in his anger before he stalked out of the chamber, still full of hurt anger -- whether it was at himself, at Keith, or at Aeris, he didn’t know -- but at least no longer ready to murder someone. He leaned against the hallway wall the moment he was out of their sight, body trembling and eyes glistening with tears.

 _Gods this is so fucked up._ He exhaled slowly, dashed the tears away and looked up and down the hall for his cousin’s son. When he saw the small figure, his heart almost stopped from the pain.

The boy was beautiful, with Aeris’ thin face and delicate bones with that small, upturned nose. He had her hair too, the thick, chestnut mop, fine strands that gleamed in the halogen lights and fell about his small, pointed face in a silken screen. But his eyes...His eyes were dark pools, velvet and gleaming and large, beautiful, expressive portals.

 _He should have been mine!_ The flash of jealousy was painful and it forced Lance into motion, forced him to walk down to the little boy, crouch beside him with his most charming smile on his face. “Hey there.”

“Hi.” The boy had a quiet voice, a reflective voice, and he kept his eyes down, focusing on the toy that he played with, long lashes screening the dark eyes from view.

“My name is Lance. I’m a friend of your father.”

“You know Daddy?” The boy looked up, hope shining in his eyes. “Is he here? Can I see him? Do you know that you look like Mommy?”

Lance almost laughed, reminded so much of himself in the rapid questions that were fired at him in Keith’s thoughtful voice. “I know. I’m your Mommy’s cousin. What’s your name?”

“Asher. Can I see my Daddy now?” A small pudgy hand latched onto Lance’s jacket, the boy’s face imploring.

“Asher, huh.” Lance smiled. _Figures Keith would name him that._ “How old are you, Asher?” The boy suddenly shrank back, shy again as he held up four little fingers. “You’re four? Really? You seem so much bigger.”

“’ank you,” Asher mumbled. He looked back up at Lance, big eyes imploring. “Please, Uncle Lance, where’s my Daddy? Mommy said I was going to stay with him for awhile. I want to see him so badly.”

Lance swallowed, heart aching at the sight of those eyes. “He...he’s away for a little while. But he’ll be back.”

“Oh.” Asher looked down, then held his toy up, a little lion. “Daddy made this for me.”

“It’s very nice.” Lance smiled and sank down to the floor, not even realizing he was crying until one of Asher’s little hands reached up to wipe the tear away.

“Why’re you crying?”

“No reason. No reason at all,” Lance lied. _Gods it hurts to see him. It hurts so much more than I thought it would._

A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Allura smiling sadly down at the two of them.

“She’s gone. I just saw her to her ship.” Allura sighed and rubbed her face. “Goddess, that was hard. So, what are we going to do with -- what’s his name?”

“Asher.” The boy looked up, confused and Lance smiled at him. “Asher, this is Allura. Allura, this is Asher.”

“You’re very pretty,” Asher mumbled, suddenly shy again.

“Why thank you.” Allura kneeled down and smiled at the child. “You’re very handsome yourself, Asher. Listen, your Mommy just left -- ”

“S’okay,” Asher interrupted. “I wanna see my Daddy.”

Allura sighed. “Keith -- your daddy -- isn’t here right now. Would you like to stay with me until he comes back?”

Asher shook his head violently. “Wanna stay with Uncle Lance.”

Allura looked at her friend, mouthing the new title in wry amusement. Lance shrugged and smiled. “It’s okay, Al. I’ll take care of the little guy.”

“Okay. If you’re sure about this.”

“I’m sure.” Lance made shooing motions with his hands. “I can handle it. I’m not helpless you know.”

“I know, I know. But if you need any help, talk to Nanny, all right?”

“Yes. Fine. Now go.” Lance already had his attention turned back to his new charge before he finished speaking, not even knowing when Allura walked away. Asher looked back up at him, eyes so innocent and curious.

“Uncle Lance, will you tell me about my daddy?”

“Of course.” Lance gathered the child up into his lap, smiling at the boy who was so like Keith. _I won’t fail you in this, Keith. I promise_.

~~~

Date: July 22, 10039 A.U  
Location: ACS _Pursues_ , guest quarters  
En Route to New Earth  
Time: 0430 STG

It was dark throughout the cabin, and silent for the most part. Sven slept the sleep of the drunk, dreamless and empty, drained but restless. He had collapsed the moment they had been beamed to the ship, exhausted by both the still experimental energy transfer as well as the heavy drinking that he had indulged in earlier that night. Hunk was tempted to watch him sleep, rest his hand on Sven’s furrowed brow and see if his presence could bring some peace. More, he was tempted to join his friend in sleep, to close his eyes and let his weary body rest. But then the _HE_ had called, and everything must be dropped when _HE_ desired your attention. Hunk swallowed his sigh and turned his weary eyes back to the gently glowing screen and the bulky, shadowed form that sat in a well appointed office a galaxy away.

“But Sir -- ”

“Are you going weak on me, soldier?”

“No Sir.” Hunk looked down, not wanting to meet those piercing eyes even behind the protection of distance. “It’s just that, well, he’s my friend. I don’t feel right -- ”

“You don’t ‘feel right?’ You weren’t hired to ‘feel’ _anything_. You are a soldier. Don’t forget that. You are here only to follow orders. Understand?” Hunk slowly nodded and the man smiled. “Good. Now I know that you’re attracted to him, so obviously this has nothing to do with any physical inability on your part. And I know that you know that there must be certain sacrifices made in order to keep the Alliance safe. So what is the problem here?”

Hunk sighed. “It’s just that he’s in an emotionally fragile state right now, Sir. He’s just admitted to himself that he is attracted to men; more, he’s attracted to one of his oldest friends. I don’t think that -- ”

“What did I tell you about thinking?”

“Sorry Sir.”

“You should be.” Though the man’s shadowed face never changed, Hunk knew that he was furrowing his brow in thought. “Name’s Sven _Bjorn_ son, you said?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Knew his father. Good man, Hendrick. Shame about his death.” The man sighed. “Well. What do you think that this...attraction on Sven’s part is caused by?”

“Honestly, Sir? I think that he’s attracted to Lance _because_ they are such close friends. I believe that he may believe that he loves Lance because he is confused and frightened about his sudden self-revelation; Lance would be a natural choice in his situation as there is already a basis of deep friendship. He may be confusing those emotions with love.”

“If you think that this is so, than it should be no problem for you to capture his heart; and his loyalty. I know that you can be quite the seducer when you wish.”

“Thank you Sir. Still, it feels wrong to -- ”

“I don’t care how you feel, soldier. I want you to make Sven fall in love with you. I don’t care how you do it, but do it. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal, Sir.”

“Good.” _HE_ paused, and suddenly Hunk felt chilled, knowing that _HE_ was gazing into the depths of his souls. “Remember, Hunk, I own you. You are _mine,_ to do with as I please. You will do what I say, when I say it. Remember that. Now, get to work.”

The screen went black, and Hunk sat for a moment, letting his eyes readjust. This felt wrong. Extremely wrong. They shouldn’t be able to play with his life like this, tell him who he could and couldn’t sleep with. They shouldn’t be able to play with his emotions this way, use him so. It was unfair to him, but more it was unfair to Sven, and wrong, and dirty to prey on him when he was so weak, so desperate, and confused, and needy. It was wrong to prey on him when all of his demons were back to torment him once more. It was wrong, but when had the Alliance ever worried about doing something wrong? When had _HE_ ever been concerned with what was right and wrong?

When the room came back into focus, Hunk made his slow way to the side of Sven’s bed, sitting on the edge and gazing down at his friend’s pale face. He had no illusions about his desire for the young Swede; even when they had first met, Hunk had known that he was aroused by Sven. And as they became friends, Hunk knew that his attraction deepened to something beyond mere lust. It was not love -- he had no illusions about that either -- but it was something beyond friendship and pure arousal. To say that his new orders to seduce and capture didn’t thrill him slightly, delight him in some selfish and obscene fashion would be to lie. He had been planning to make a move on Sven anyway -- at least once Sven was less vulnerable, less desperate -- and this _would_ be killing two birds with one stone.

Still, it disturbed him to prey so on a friend that he trusted and respected. He knew that he would do it, no matter how he silently protested the wrongness of it all; he was too much of a soldier to even think about questioning an order. But he would never feel right about it, never feel comfortable knowing that their relationship could be boiled down to nothing more than a strategic move in the grand maneuvering of some distant figure.

“One more thing to drag me down to hell, eh old soul?” Hunk chuckled softly. “Ah well, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things? The lives of a few men are of no consequence when it helps the Alliance.”

Sven tossed and murmured, some dark dream breaking through the drunken numbness. Hunk gently brushed his forehead, smiling softly. “Shh. I’m here.”

Sven’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up in blank confusion. “Hunk? ‘at you?”

“Yeah. Go back to sleep, Sven.”

“’k.” Sven’s eyes closed, then opened again, an irrational worry clouding their dark depths. “Don’t leave me, Hunk.”

“I won’t. I’ll be here. Don’t worry, you aren’t going to be alone.”

“Sleep here with me tonight?” Sven looked down, cheeks a faint rose as he blushed in embarrassment. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”

“Sure Sven. I’ll stay.” Hunk climbed into the bed, wrapped his arms around Sven. He wondered if he should be happy or sad that it was proving to be so easy to seduce his friend.

“Thank you.” Sven closed his eyes, breath growing soft and even as he quickly slipped back into sleep. Hunk watched him for a while, breathed in the mix of Sven’s shampoo and the alcohol’s fumes that still clung to the both of them. He was surprised when a small tear fell on the darkly silken mass; he had thought himself incapable of tears.

Hunk closed his eyes, tightened his grip. “Don’t thank me, Sven. There is nothing to thank.”


	20. Interlude

_Excerpts from  
Inter-species Dating  
Chapter Five: Offspring_

_There are many important factors that go into determining whether or not two species will produce a child, besides the all important genetic base [...] The longevity of the species is also a key factor._

 _There are currently four categories for determining longevity [...] The Immortal races live up to and beyond fifteen hundred standard galactic years [...] The Elder races live between twelve and eight hundred standard galactic years [...] The Middle races live between five hundred and one hundred years and this range of life cycle is the most common [...] The Child races live for only as long as twenty years to about seventy years. This life cycle range, as well as that of the Immortals are among the rarest found through out the Universe, though the rapidity in which the Child races reproduce makes up for this lack [...]._

 _[...] While it is true that the length of a life cycle has nothing do with the sexual aspect of dating, it does heavily effect the likely-hood of off-spring. Because the gestation period tends to vary depending upon the length of a life cycle, it is generally accepted that only ‘neighbors’ can produce offspring, although the greater the distance between life cycles the less the likelihood of producing reproductive off spring [...] For example, a Terran, who belongs to the Child races, may breed with a Laoren, who has a life cycle that belongs in the Middle races, but not with an Arusian who is a member of the Elder races. Likewise, a Horas, who lives for roughly twenty years, could reproduce with a Laoren, who lives for a hundred and ten years, but the likelihood of their child being able to have children of their own is only twenty five percent._

 _...One of the strangest species is that of the Ki’ir-ar. They belong to the Elder races by rights, and are one of the longest living animals known to the Universe. They are perhaps the hardiest race, being able to survive in areas that no living thing has a right to exist in, but lack in numbers because of a strange genetic quirk where both the male and female posses a reproductive cycle. Though the male’s sperm is potent in the most of the other species that it can breed with, and the female can carry the child of most of the cross species races that it can breed with, the Ki’ir-ar can only have children with another Ki’ir-ar when their cycles coincide. When coupled with the ease at which female Ki’ir-ar miscarry, it is a wonder that there are still Ki’ir-ar around..._


	21. Chapter 21

Location: ACS _Pursues_ , Sick bay,  
En route to New Earth  
Time: 1915 STG

The doctor was old -- one of the Immortal races -- and he had seen so many things in his lifetime that very little could surprise him now. Yet, when he saw his patient, he felt his still strong heart stop and wondered if the Good One was calling him home.

He had seen this broken body before -- a blink of an eye for him but a lifetime for the boy that struggled against his restraints. He knew the bloody face, the raw body, the clotting stains against porcelain skin; they haunted his dreams, haunted his nightmares. He could still hear the screams of pain as the saw cut through shattered wings, feel the stubbornly conscious boy writhe as his life, his joy was taken away. He knew what the boy's sweat smelled like, his blood and filth and tears. He could still hear the short general's gruff voice, his blank face as he said with a monotonous tone _Kill him and I kill you_.

The old man swallowed, trying not to breathe in the smell of burnt flesh and blood; it smelled like roast pork and he found himself growing hungry at the stench. Instead, he pulled on a pair of gloves and walked with trembling legs to the exam table where four strong men held down the boy's form.

"The slave needs to be patched up," one of the caerulum said casually. "Can't have him dying before we kill him."

The old doctor nodded, trying not to look into the wild black eyes. "Leave him here. I can handle him."

The woman shook her head. "Sorry, but orders are not to let him out of our sight."

"Then watch from the observation deck. I don't care. I just can't have you all standing here and disturbing my work." The doctor glared at assembled caerulum, hoping that the fear he felt couldn't be seen. Haven help him if they discovered the chip, learned what part he had in this foul deception. He had too many years left to spend it in Brig like his compatriot; it did not matter that he had played an unwilling part, did not matter that it wasn't his decision to destroy the boy's life. To the clouded eyes of Justice, guilt and innocence were of no import. All that mattered was blood spilled to appease the public.

The woman considered the proposition carefully before nodding grudgingly and gesturing for the four men to release their hold on the boy's mangled limbs. She pulled out a taser from her pocket and tossed it to the doctor. "If he gets out of hand, just push this into one of the wounds. It quiets him down quick enough." She laughed, low and cruel. "He squirms nice, Doc. I don't think that it will be necessary to use any sort of...anesthesia."

The doctor signaled his understanding before shooing them out of his domain. As the door closed behind them, he breathed a sigh of relief and moved to the already bloody operating table. The boy -- what was his name again? -- gazed up at him through surprisingly clear eyes, not frightened but rather...distant, frozen. As if he gazed at this reality form another place; a nightmarish place. The doctor placed a finger to his lips -- though it was useless, since the boy was obviously too far gone to understand the gesture -- signaling his part in this grand conspiracy before flipping the body over in one swift, painful move. There wasn't enough time to be conscious of the boy's pain.

He snatched up his ionic razor, passing the blue light over the bloodiest patch of the boy's skull, shearing the matted, black hair from the skull. He had to work quickly, before the caerulum could reach the observation portal.

He dropped the ionic razor the moment the wound was free of hair, the pale flesh of the skull turning the wound into some sort of horrendous maw, gaping and filled with jagged teeth. He could see the brain peeking through the gap, see where the liquid coolant had leaked out of the hole and down the boy's neck, the acidic solution leaving a burning, poisoned trail in its wake.

 _This is bad. This is_ very _bad_.

The doctor took a deep breath and grabbed the bone saw. He needed to get in there, needed to see the chips. Viciously, determinedly, he cut another hole, pulling the bone free and laying it aside.

Even though he had prepared for the worst, he was not prepared for that which greeted him.

The two precious chips were slag, the metal alloy exterior melting and molding itself into the folds of the brain, turning the grey matter silver; the wiring and delicate silicon interior exposed and cracked, ruined beyond all hope of repair.

The doctor sank back against the EKG machine, heart beating a fast and nervous tattoo against his ribs.

 _It’s gone...Oh Havens, it's gone! He's going to start reverting...and may the Good One save us all when he does._

With trembling hands, the doctor picked out the remnants of the silicon chips, knowing that he held his demise in his hands as he did. It would only be a matter of time before the mechanical viruses, bio-electric machine cells that had been injected into the boy's blood at his rebirth, would die out completely with out the God-chip to replenish them. Then the Terran DNA -- the simple strands with which he had used to over-write the boy's true nature, to mutate the mangled form into something that it was not -- would be hunted down by the young Ki’ir-ar's white cells, destroyed as the foreign invaders that the were.

Centuries of research, decades of waiting for the perfect host, all those weary hours spent changing the boy, working through the bugs until they had achieved perfection, until they -- _he_ \-- had altered what had taken millennia to create...All gone, destroyed in mere seconds.

He didn't even want to _think_ about what the Memory Inhibitor planted in the boy's frontal lobes was doing, with out it's mate to maintain the brain's electrical pulses.

~~~

 _Deep in blackness Keith descended, the sick light of insanity guiding his way. And as he passed further into delirium, he remembered...remembered all that he had been told to forget._

~~~

The Ki’ir-ar roused himself out of the blackness of unconsciousness when he was brought into the medic's tent, carried in along with half a dozen other unfortunate souls. No one noticed that he was not part of the G.G., not with so many other blood-and-dirt smeared forms to care for. To the harried rescue teams, he looked just like one more wounded soldier, one more body desperate for medical attention.

It wasn't until they stripped him of the dirty cloth that covered his mangled body that his true identity was discovered, the mangled stumps of his wings jutting out in stark relief against the blood and muck that covered his body.

The medic working on him at the time shoved his body away with a disgusted cry, face twisted in anger at the deception. "This isn't a soldier," he growled. "It's a damn Ki’ir-ar. Someone's slave must've been to close to the battle and some idiot brought it in here to be treated."

"We can't spare time with the thing. Throw it out with the rest of the carcasses," another medic shot back, rushing past with more white bandages and long needles filled with potent pain-killers.

"My son! Where's my son! Where's Ash?" The gruff voice mingled with that of a thousand other desperate voices, would have been lost to the Ki’ir-ar if the owner had not been so close. "Ash!"

"I'm sorry, General Tsumetai. The messengers who sought you out were badly misinformed. We, uh, we thought that the Ki’ir-ar over there was your son, what with the confusion and blood and all. I-I'm afraid that your son is either dead or captured by Hagi-ai guerrillas."

"Ki’ir-ar? My...Ash went out with a Ki’ir-ar. To find his way. Maybe it knows what happened to him."

"Good luck, Sir. That thing is so mangled, I doubt that you'll be able to get much out of it. It's about three seconds away from dying anyway." The medic turned his serpentine head toward the Ki’ir-ar, an angry scowl marring its face. "What the hell is it still doing here? Get it off that pallet _now_! For Haj's sake, that thing is taking up room that could be used to save a soldier!"

"Wait. Let me talk to it." The gruff voice came closer, knelt down beside the slave, jostling the canvas cot and making the wounded boy groan. "What's your name, boy?"

" _Nein._.. _nein appar_...No name. No name," the boy whispered out in a voice fast with fever, lilting syllables of his race's tongue sounding sharp and harsh as he gasped them out. " _Besari ke'neinshke_."

"Masterless." The man, the owner of the voice, looked at him with hard eyes, leaning closer until he was almost face to face with the boy. "Listen, boy, _tu almo kevas_? D'you understand? _Tu almo kevas. Qui appar Ki’ir-ar_?" The slave gapped at the man in surprise, wondering at the phenomenon of one of the Owners knowing his tongue. The man shifted uncomfortably and glared harder at the boy, mein dangerous. "Tell me!" he hissed. "Tu almo kevas!"

" _Kevas...kevas j'Holar. Ki’ir-ar appar a'Shteru. a'Shteru Keith'an-skai me Kolava der Naish. Kevas j'Holar! Aer mn'Ael-a-ben'shteof._ "

"Clan _j'Holar_. What the hell is a Scholar doing in the middle of a battle field?" The man's voice was low, directed to himself. " _a'Shteru Keith'an-skai_ of Clan _j'Holar_ , son of _Kolava_ the sculptor... _Aer_...That's Aerie... _mn'Ael_...Dark Mountains. _a-ben'shteof_...well, _shteof_ means violent winds... _a-ben...a-ben_...Kami, he can't be from the Bloody Crags?" The man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. " _a'Shteru...a'Shteru_...Wings of Blood? Why does that sound so familiar..."

The Ki’ir-ar reached out a bloodied hand, small fingers gripping the man's rough uniform. " _Ein Aldersine! Mishtak bevar, kos ai'besar, li'a-laishka, ein, coras_ Renstat, _a'Shteru, ko'zar el'Garu! Vi Ki’ir-ar!_ "

The man stared down at him, eyes wide and white. _No_ , he thought. _No. It can't be. Not...not the leader of the Bensai rebellion? He's too young! He can't be an_ Aldersine _yet. He can't be that lost, to mark himself as one of the Soulless_. The man shivered _. 'By the souls of my ancestors, by the blood of my enemies, by the winds that carry me aloft, I, killer of a thousand Renstat_ , _a'Shteru,_ _will smite my opposers'. No doubt about it...Only_ _a'Shteru_ _would use an oath like that. Kami, what a find. What a find!_ The man stood, grabbed a passing aide, and gestured at the pallet. "Take the slave to my tent. I would have him magicked so that he may tell me what happened to my son." The aide hesitated, caught between the need to obey orders and the need to protest the use of precious magic upon a slave. "Do it!"

"Yes sir." The aide saluted and grabbed the pallet, dragging the canvas sheet with an ill grace. The boy whimpered as the he was borne away, every stone seeming to rip into his already torn flesh, tearing eyes focusing on the man who had spoken his tongue, until he could no longer see him and the despair that had consumed him returned and carried him into the fearful dark.

~~~

 _And then further still, to more pain, more betrayal, more agony as the pulsing heat would not let him rest..._

~~~

a'Shteru woke to more pain, to the hum of a saw near his ear, and grabbled voice speaking the ugly words of his captor's race. He whimpered, struggled to get off his bleeding stomach, to raise his head from the padded headrest where it was firmly held.

" _Alin!_ Stop! Release me!" he howled, fighting at the bonds that held him.

"Hold him, Onaa, or I may slip and sever his spine. Then all _will_ be lost." One of his captors spoke far above him, and hands clutched his arms, his legs, his head and body, holding him down, pushing him into the padded table. The whine of the saw increased, moved away from his ear, and a'Shteru fought harder to free himself, writhing beneath the grasping hands.

Then the saw bit into his skin, sending rattling vibrations up and down his body, shaking him, tossing him about until he thought his bones would rattle out of their sockets and his teeth would loosen and fall from his mouth. For a moment his struggles stopped, as pain more intense than anything he had ever felt before overwhelmed his mind.

Then he realized _what_ they were cutting and he screamed.

 _My wings! No! My life, my blood! Don't take them away! Don't take away my air, my reason for being! Don't take away my protection, my speed!_ a'Shteru wailed within his mind, breath coming shallow and fast, as that which was most important to him was cut away. _Take my manhood, my heart, my life, but not my wings! Leave me my wings!_ He could feel his heart slowing, feel overwhelming panic seize him as the first of his wings was cut away. He was hyperventilating now, retching as his beautiful wings were hacked off; how would he live now? How would he escape from those that would kill him? How would he hunt, without his wings to take him above his prey and send him speeding down to capture it?

He was choking, heart stopping and starting as the second thump signified the loss of his other wing. He could feel death creeping up on him, see _k'Elava_ , the Dark Angel, come to take him back.

So busy dying was he, that he never even noticed when they flipped him on his back and drove a needle into his heart, never even noticed when he began to breathe again, heart pumping blood again.

"Quickly, bring the inhibitor." A woman's voice, velvet steel, commanding. "We must block his memory while we still have the chance."

"B-but Kyoko, what about all the information he has? What about all the knowledge of the rebellion he carries?"

"Would you rather have him die, Onaa? Now, do it! Doctor, is the chip ready?"

"I must warn against this action."

"I don't care what you think. Just put that chip in his head and lets get on with it."

 _What's taking so long? I should be dead by now_...

Another buzzing, another teeth rattling shaking, shorter this time, less agonizing. Then a brief pressure and _something_ began to eat at his memories, strip him of his soul, of who he was. And then, two more pressures, and a sudden chill. Then, a prick, and there were suddenly hundreds of thousands of _things_ crawling beneath his skin, eating him alive.

He wasn't even aware that he was screaming until he stopped.

Darkness circled around him, taunting him with its nearness, teasing him by staying out of his reach. And as the darkness crept even closer, his captors spoke, distant and reedy.

" _Keith'an_. _"_ The gruff voice, the voice that he once thought his savior. "Vengeance. A fitting name. Well, then. Welcome to the world...Keith."

~~~

 _Keith screamed in his mind, and nobody heard him. He was lost, lost forever, shattered beyond repair as everything he knew fractured, scattered, exploded from him, gone forever._

 _He was no more._

 _He was nothing._

 _And the demons within laughed._

~~~

The old doctor didn’t want to know what the boy was dreaming of, what horrors his mind concocted; worse, he feared what the boy remembered. There had been too many lies fabricated, too many false memories whispered to him to let his mind rest easy now that they were being stripped away.

The boy twitched and moaned under his knife, though whether from the pain of being operated on without anesthesia, or from the terrors of his imagination, he didn’t know. All that mattered to the old doctor was that he keep him alive, keep him breathing and moving.

It was early the next day by the time he stopped, covered in the red blood, wearied beyond belief. He stripped off the gloves, removed the stained and sticky green scrubs, planning to incinerate them. The Ki’ir-ar floated in the viscous green regenerative gel, body a mass of neatly sewed wounds and shiny new skin, and the old doctor sighed as he watched him twitch. He longed for his bed, but his work was not yet done tonight.

With weary steps he descended deep into the ship, smelling the blood on floor and the walls. His hand caressed the small, steel tube that rested heavily in his pocket. _So it has come to this, then._ He sighed again, rested his forehead against the cold wall of the brig, dreading what he had to do next.

Keying the door open, the doctor slipped into empty, desolate chamber, eyes drawn to the single occupied cell and the two forms huddled on the floor. _Why did I ever make this promise?_

“Onaa.” The doctor’s voice was rough and harsh. The former general looked up, face lined and scared.

“Who? _You?”_

“I have come to fulfill my promise.” He slipped up to the glowing bars and handed the tube to the Japanese man. “It’s not quite a Katana, but it will do.”

Onaa nodded and flicked the small button on the steel tube, sending the laser blade sparking into the air. He waved it once, twice, testing the heft and weight, then nodded slowly. “Thank you my friend.” He bowed, then paused.

“My son?”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry. They are guarding him too closely.”

“Well, perhaps it is just as good. He would not approve.” Onaa set the small tube down and began to disrobe. The old doctor half-turned away, not wanting to see what followed.

“Are you sure that this is the way?”

“It is the only option left.” Onaa bowed deeply, a sharp intake of breath the only indication of the pain the action must have caused. “I will see you on the next plain, my friend.”

The doctor nodded, neutral and impassive.

Onaa straightened, saluted once with the gleaming sword, then ran himself through. He didn't scream as he jerked the blade across the sagging flesh of his old man's belly, spilling blood and guts and the gleaming blade out in a black-red pool on the steel floor. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he looked up, imploring, silently begging for help to make this painful death a little less painful, a little less slow. The doctor shook his head and turned off the electric field, slipping in to retrieve the sword.

It only took one swift blow to sever Onaa's head.

 _Seppuku. What a waste._

He turned and walked away, shoulders bowed with heavy thoughts.


	22. Interlude

  
_Excerpts from  
The Articles of Slavery  
As Set Down by the Council of Five,  
In the One Hundred Fifty Second Year  
After the Pentiam Alliance_   


_Preamble: Because the Ki’ir-ar posses none of the Higher Qualities of Sentience, they are thus not Equal to the citizens of the Alliance, and it is the Right of those who are Civilized to enslave these Beasts. They must be taught, like a Dog or Cat or any other form of Domesticated Beast is taught, the Right and Proper ways of Behaving. It is for the Good of their People that they are Enslaved for, if left to their own devices they would surely Destroy themselves. Their Savagery must be Tamed, their Rough Edges polished and smoothed, and it is the Duty of all Sentients to train the Ki’ir-ar and Domesticate their Barbaric ways until they can take their Proper place in the Alliance as Obedient Servants. As they are no better than the Dog or Cat or Del’ni, it is Just that they are treated as such. The Ki’ir-ar are enslaved because they present a Real and Dangerous Threat to all Sentient Beings. They are not Sentient, and have no capability for Morality, Ethics, Relational Thought or any form of Higher Intelligence. They are little more than Beasts, who are only capable of mimicking those values that they see in Beings of Higher Thought. Since there are those among the Alliance who Fear and Abhor the Conquered Ki’ir-ar, it has been decided by the Council of Five that these Laws must be set down to Quell that Fear and Ease the minds of Her citizens. These Laws are Inviolable and may not be infringed upon._

 _Article I: No Ki’ir-ar may hold any position of Power, or Authority in any area of the Alliance, whether it is Domestic or Military. Punishment for disregarding this Law is death for both Master and Slave for endangering the well-being of all Sentients._

 _Article II: No Ki’ir-ar may harm a Sentient in any way, shape or form. Punishment for Breaking this Law is Death to the Ki’ir-ar and reparations to the injured party by the Ki’ir-ar’s master._

 _Article III: Ki’ir-ar are to be considered property, and as such all laws regarding property are applicable to them, thus:  
1) The Alliance claims all rights to seizure of Ki’ir-ar as payment for debts or bonds owed to the Alliance.  
2) A Ki’ir-ar may be used either in lieu of payment, or as a Bond of Faith. _

_Article IV: It is punishable by death to arm a Ki’ir-ar._

 _Article V: The Ki’ir-ar are not included under the Declaration of the Rights of Sentience, for they are deemed to be without sentience[...]_

 _Article VIII: All Ki’ir-ar must be registered in the Alliance..._

 _Article X: The Ki’ir-ar are to be considered separate from beasts. The Master of a Ki’ir-ar may do whatsoever they deem as fit treatment, so long as that treatment does not violate the Laws written here._

 _Article XII: All Ki’ir-ar seen without a Master, or without some proper identification of ownership must be seized and turned in to the Alliance without hesitation..._

 _Article XVII: Any Ki’ir-ar who conspired or assisted their Master in breaking any Alliance or Planetary Law in any means, is to be charged with the crimes of their Master and punished as it is seen fit..._

 _Article XIX: No Ki’ir-ar may attempt to disguise themselves as a member of any Sentient Race..._

 _Article XXI: Any child born to a union of Ki’ir-ar and Sentient, is to be destroyed, for their own Good. For it is deemed a foul punishment to permit any half-breed of Ki’ir-ar and Sentient to be forced into either environ. They posses too much Sentience to be Enslaved, and not enough Sentience to be part of a Sentient culture..._

 _Article XXII: Rape precipitated by a Ki’ir-ar is to be punished by death..._

 _Article XXIV: Any Ki’ir-ar found fleeing from their Master is to be punished in whatsoever manner their Master see fit._

 _Article XXXII: All Ki’ir-ar are subject to the Laws and Regulations of both Alliance and Planetary Law._


	23. Chapter 23

Date: August 6th, 10039 A.U  
Location: Execution Arena, 1003 Columbus Ave  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1200 STG

The day dawned with a strange brightness, a burst of warm light that bathed the execution block in a mockingly cheerful glow. The noise of saws and hammers had dominated the normally quiet neighborhood for the past two weeks, but no one begrudged the discord. After all, a public execution was a rare event these days; fewer and fewer Ki’ir-ar were being captured of late and the viscous inhabitants of the Alliance were anxious for some form of retribution.

By seven, the crowd had overflowed the stands and now stood packed tightly together, waiting patiently for the condemned. Around the Alliance a general holiday had been called and those who couldn’t be there to watch the Ki’ir-ar’s death in person flocked to their vid-screens, eyes glued to the gruesome replay of this particular slave’s deeds. They were entranced by the destructive power of this one Ki’ir-ar, and those who possessed Ki’ir-ar slaves of their own vowed to punish them further for their kinsman’s deeds.

The images flowed in a constant stream; horrible images of this black haired, bloody-winged destroyer swooping down with foaming mouth to tear at Alliance soldiers. The damnable images created an unnatural beast out of the condemned, showing him as indestructible, replaying footage of the Ki’ir-ar taking a chest full of bullets and still raging on; of the slave foaming blood red, chest and jowls drenched by the thick red liquid, eyes a deep abyss of insanity.

Back and back the images went, circumventing the flow of time to show the Ki’ir-ar growing younger, his powerful body shrinking and collapsing into the lean form of a child. His still chubby arms wielded the too large sword with dangerous grace, his oil-black eyes still gleamed with some emotion that the comfortable citizens couldn’t possible understand; they couldn’t understand loss like his.

All they cared about was how many people he had killed.

When the appointed time finally arrived, the people that crowded the stands filled the air with their hooting cat calls and rotten produce. Their bloodlust was up, the mob demanding a kill, his life for the lives of those that had been lost. It was not safe to be a slave today, and those few Ki’ir-ar whose masters had brought them to the arena cowered in fear. Their wide, wet eyes peered at the mob in fear, mouths opened in mute cries, wings ruffled and unsettled by the hatred of the crowd. When the slave finally appeared, however, the crowd went silent; though whether it was a hostile silence or awe at the Ki’ir-ar’s bearing none could later tell.

His naked body gleamed in the bright sunshine, slick from the oil that had been poured over him; an assurance that when the flames licked at his feet he would blaze bright, strike fear into the hearts of all Ki’ir-ar that they might share his fate. The deep, black eyes gazed at the crowd in mute sorrow, almost contrite if the tears that brightened them held any truth. Though he kept silent, he pled with those that howled for his blood, begged them to understand his sorrow. The black wings that weighed heavy on his shoulders, bowed him down under the weight of thick wood and badly dyed feathers, sagged and fluttered with every movement, stretched out in a mockery of flight; yet another assurance that this slave would flame. For one long, breathless moment it almost seemed as though he reached them, made them understand that he was not someone’s property, that he had feelings too; and that he did not deserve to die so.

Then the first stone was thrown and the silence was broken. The Ki’ir-ar bowed his white, shaved head, trudged down the cleared isle with slow, sorrowful steps. There was no grace to his movements, no beauty to his tread. This was the walk of one condemned, the slow, shuffling, stumbling walk of one who sees his death before him; sees it all too clearly and knows that there is no escape. Beyond the metal barrier the mob roared and shouted obscene things at him, pelted him with garbage and stones; with metal shards and wooden chunks gathered from the building site days before. It was a sickening display, one that any thinking being would be ashamed to admit to being part of; yet all those who were not there could only feel envy stirring them, envy for those people who had managed to purchase those coveted places at the execution.

Up onto the raised platform the Ki’ir-ar was led, made to stand on a metal block already burning from the heat. His back was pressed to the steel T, false wings attached to ends of the piping, body bound with barbed wires, the small spikes creating tiny flowers of red that bloomed and trickled down his oiled body. Around his neck they slipped a piece of thin wire, its pointed ends fixed to the metal rod that held him upright. Meant to be humane, the wire was supposed to cut the victims throat as they writhed on their living pyre; in truth, there wasn’t enough room for the victim to slit their own throat, and all the wire did was prolong the agony, slice thin layers from the victim’s throat to spill blood that sparked and burned in the fire below.

The executioners stepped away, not even hooded for their gruesome task. No the soldiers had fought for this honor, warred amongst themselves for this position. Chests puffing in pride, the executioners grinning approvingly at the barbaric nature of their task, they strutted to the stairs and down from the giant pyre to stand at perfect attention, waiting to send their creation aloft in a roaring, angry blaze.

Nodding in satisfaction, the Prime Minister of Earth walked to the podium set up for him with a self-important strut. He raised his hands, giant screens that floated behind him mimicking his movements, and the crowd fell into an expectant silence. The Prime Minister cleared his throat, shuffled his papers and graced those who watched him -- both those before him and those who sat glued to their vid-screens -- with a self-righteous smile.

“ _Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me you ears!_ ” The crowd roared their approval of his purloined line and the Prime Minister’s smile widened as he began to tally these future votes. “I stand before you today to tell you the deeds of this Ki’ir-ar slave; this beast who waits to die. I come here to tell you what heinous crimes this _thing_ and those who own it inflicted upon our glorious Alliance.

“This thing was sent out amongst the innocent populace armed; it was allowed to operate a spacecraft of as yet unmeasured power; it _willingly_ cut off its wings in order to pass for a Sentient being; it was placed in a position of power and trust, allowed access to important, Top Secret documents; it lied, cheated and killed its way into our graces and trust; worse, this Ki’ir-ar, this foul beast was the creature responsible for the revolts that occurred on Nemai only a few years ago -- our allies, the Renstat, are still recovering from its attacks on them.

“My friends, my dear, dear friends, I tell you this now because I ask you for but one favor; those of you who posses slaves of your own, do not take your anger out on them. They are innocent of this one’s crimes, of its master's crimes. We punish this Ki’ir-ar alone today, punish it for the crimes that both it and its masters committed, for the two who allowed this to happen are dead and we may not kill them as well. But this Ki’ir-ar is just one isolated incidence. I am sure that those Ki’ir-ar owned by yourselves are safe; they wouldn’t slaughter your family in the night, rape your children, kill you the first chance they get. No, I am sure that your Ki’ir-ar are good creatures, that such acts would never cross their simple minds.”

The Prime Minister smiled at the angry, worried murmuring that swept across the crowd. _Foul things. They deserve everything they get._ He glanced at the bound Ki’ir-ar waiting for the agony of purifying flame, frowning at the lack of movement. _Damn thing had better not have passed out or slit deeply enough to have bled to death already. I need it screaming and writhing if I want to win the next terms elections._ He glared at the executioners and jerked his head at the Ki’ir-ar, silently ordering them to cheek and see that it still lived.

“My fellow Sentients, I ask you today to think about what the Ki’ir-ar represent to our society. More than slaves, these Ki’ir-ar are the epitome of all that is evil, and a symbol of the grand purpose of the Alliance; to chain that evil down, teach it the proper ways of behavior. As our ancestors stated, oh so long ago, _‘It is for the Good of their People that they are Enslaved for, if left to their own devices they would surely Destroy themselves’._ So it is for the Good of the Ki’ir-ar, for the Good of the Alliance that we execute this savage beast -- ”

“Wait!”

The Prime Minister paused, surprised that anyone would have the audacity to interrupt his speech. He leaned over the podium, glared at the crowd, tried to pick out the speaker from the faceless mass that was before him. “Who said that?”

“I did.” A ripple shook the crowd as the speaker forced her way forward, golden hair shining in the sun. She mounted the podium and none moved forward to stop her, her form and face stamped with such regal features, bearing imbued with such grace, such nobility, that none wanted to oppose her. Her escort of two trailed behind her, one but a small boy, the other a lithe and somewhat shifty looking male; but even this mar served only to heighten her noble grace. “I spoke, as is my right.”

“Who are you?” The Prime Minister spat out the words, face dark with envy.

“I am Princess Allura Arai, acting-ruler of planet Arus, and head of the Council of Five, as was written down by our ancestors. And, as stated in the second article of the Alliance Constitution, I exercise the right of the First Seat and buy the bond of this slave. I refuse to allow you to execute him.” Allura gazed coolly, nobly at the Prime Minister, daring him to challenge her power.

“Y-you can’t do that!” the Prime Minister protested. “This slave _must_ be burned! If he’s allowed to live, than he will be a symbol to _all_ Ki’ir-ar that they may break all the regulations -- which were created to _help_ them -- without fear of retribution! Besides,” here his eyes narrowed to suspicious slits, “how can we possibly know that you are who you say you are?”

“Oh I am who I say I am.” Allura smiled, more a thinning of lips than any actual sign of amusement. “I realize that it has been a long time since any member of the Arusian government was able to take their proper place at the head of the Council, but surely it hasn’t been so long that the power of the Arusian seat has been forgotten. Besides, I believe that the time has come to remedy that mistake; Arus has several...concerns about recent developments that we must discuss. I am taking Keith -- the Ki’ir-ar -- into my custody and I demand that the Council convene tomorrow to discuss the continuation of the Ki’ir-ar enslavement. This barbaric charade has gone on long enough. Pidge, Lance,” she nodded to the two men, “take him back to our quarters. And for the Goddesses’ sake, get those wings off of him. As for you,” her regal expression barely changed but the Prime Minister cringed away from the contempt that was in her eyes as if it had been a real blow, “I expect to see you -- and the rest of the council members -- tomorrow morning at oh-ten hundred. We will have a long day ahead of us tomorrow; I don’t recommend being late.”

She stepped from the dais, walking -- no, _gliding_ \-- through the crowd, safe in the fragile bubble of her noble bearing. She moved calmly, collected and focused, to where her escort stood supporting the oil slick Ki’ir-ar. Blue eyes sad, she gently brushed the Ki’ir-ar’s face, hand trailing down his arm in a comforting fashion.

“Oh Keith,” she whispered, “what’ve they done to you.” Straightening, eyes suddenly harder, she raked her gaze across the silent and stunned crowd. “You should all be ashamed of yourself. Come, let’s get out of this place before I do something I know I’ll regret.”

Her back straight, face hard as granite, she stalked away from the now useless pyre. The escort trailed behind, fox-faced youth cradling the Ki’ir-ar to his chest in an almost possessive manner. The Prime Minister watched them go, felt his soul chill as he watched them lead off the Ki’ir-ar. _This does not bode well. This doesn't bode well at all._

~~~

 _Kill them! Kill them all! Watch their blood run down your hands! Kill them! Wreck your vengeance upon their weak forms, exact your revenge from their flesh. That which was taken from you must be given back in kind; kill them!_

Keith shuddered at the words that sang through his mind. He flexed his hands, still struggling to accustom himself to the lost familiarity of his true form. His talon tipped fingers were still clumsy, the razor edges still cut him every time he tried to do something -- anything; the extra joints in his feet that had painfully regrown during his two week immersion in the regenerative fluid made walking difficult; even his perception had changed, grown sharper until all the world was seen in stark detail and that which lay beyond his ‘normal’ sight was clearly seen. Worse, he kept expecting his wings to catch on something, walked as though they were still there, flexed the missing muscles that would have caused them to unfurl with unconscious thought. The disappointing shock that there were no longer wings there hurt more than anything else, any of the other adjustments his misshapen body underwent as it returned to its original state.

But even all this was pale in comparison to the changes wrought within his very mind. It was so hard to mesh his two lives, to make such separate existences merge into one. They warred within him, demanded two separate things -- and in the end, split him in two, creating a new persona that exalted in blood and death, in the destruction of the Alliance and the death of all that stood in the way of revenge. a’Shteru. The Bloody One.

 _Burn them, freeze them, fry them alive! But kill them, kill them, our enemies_ must _die. You betray us, you betray_ them _if you let the false ones live. We are Keith'an-skai; we have given ourselves to revenge. You cannot escape that; you cannot flee from this fate! Throw off your weak chains! Rise again as one strong and proud, one who can see the evil of those around him. Kill them...kill them all._

Keith shuddered, drowned under the sudden rush of new memories, of old injustices and old pains brought back into the light. He screamed in his mind, struggled for some sort of purchase in this slick descent downward, spiraling into insanity.

And as he fell, a’Shteru rose, borne upwards on wings of blood.

~~~

Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1230 STG

Allura sat down carefully at the table, kept her gaze steady on the person opposite her. Even though he looked like Keith in outward form, there was something wrong; there was something off in the way he held himself, the way he sat, tilted forward to compensate for the bulk of wings -- something that would never trouble him again. He seemed ill at ease, awkward in a body that should have been familiar to him. His lack of grace, his lack of comfort in his own form, was disconcerting to say the least. But more so were his eyes, too sharp and gleaming with a mad intent. They pinned her, pierced her, raked over her soul and dismissed her. They made her feel small and weak, worthless, worse than scum. And they promised her death, full of laughing blood and pain.

Shuddering, she took a deep breath. “Keith-”

“Don’t use that name.” Keith glared at her, coal-black eyes hard. “Don’t speak to me in such a weak tongue.”

//Fine. Friend, then.// Allura formed the almost forgotten words slowly, vaguely remembering the lilting, singing tongue. //I come to you in peace. I threaten not the lives of your Aerie, nor wish harm upon your Nest and Clan. Peace be to you, Kreiger.//

//Who are you that speaks my tongue? Tell me, Oh Despised One, what business you have with me.// Keith smiled coldly, voice as hard and mad as his eyes.

//I am a friend and I have come to offer you assistance, as is the custom between friends.//

//You are no friend. a’Shteru _has_ no friends. All I have are enemies.// Moving faster than he should have, faster than the ill ease with which he had sat should have allowed him, he leapt across the table, one taloned hand gripping Allura’s throat tightly. The razor ends bit lightly into her skin, dots of bright red blooming and staining the tips. //Tell me, you pathetic groundling, why I shouldn’t kill you right now, burn you alive as you planed to do to me. Or perhaps I should slice your pretty skin into ribbons for the Nestlings to play with. I would think that your blood looks just as bright when spilled as mine.//

//You shall not kill me, a’Shteru.// Allura looked calmly into those mad eyes, though it chilled her soul, not flinching even when the talons dug deeper into her throat.

//And why not? You are of Arus, are you not? You are one of those who enslaves my race, kills my children, murders the weak and old, and shames my people into acts of depravity. You are one of the progenitors of my people’s ills, one who created the Shi’ban, one who steals the voice of my race and works them until they die, too early in their lives. You should die like them, sent out to the mines to spend your days locked away from the blessed skies and buried beneath the cold, unforgiving earth; or out in the fields with your wings clipped and your back bent and scored by the robot’s bloodied whip; or chained to carriages that draw your pathetic Alliance into the air; or left with no control of your own body, used for foul sex by any who desires a quick fuck, face painted like a doll’s and mind trapped screaming within a soulless shell. You should experience all these things, live them, die them, until you _know_ what it is to be a Ki’ir-ar; what it is to be a slave.//

//Think you that these grievances, this pain is yours to bear alone? I feel the injustice keenly, hear those silent screams resonating in my soul. Your people are mine, your woes my woes, your pain my pain. I am Allura-thegn, who can claim blood-line to Hashar-kesal, the First of us. I claim status of clan m’Xaoga, descended from Feur-kai, Marak-lai of the Ja’hosh Ki’ir-ar. Though you may wish to kill me you may not. None can harm those of the line of Marak-lai.//

//You? A Marak-lai to be?// a’Shteru gave a short bark of laughter, tightened his grip. //Your form belies your words, Wingless. You couldn’t ride the winds even if your bones were ground to dust and tossed into the sky. You cannot escape the pull of the Earth, no matter how hard you try.//

//I may not bear wings, but neither do you. I am of a blood purer than yours, a’Shteru, though my outward appearance may not be that of a Ki’ir-ar. If you doubt me, than look and let your doubt be appeased.// Moving before a’Shteru could react, Allura rolled up the sleeve of her dress, dispelled the illusion that covered her lineage. The dark blue lines that wound and twined around her upper arm in a pattern of wind and power bled through quickly, emblazoned brightly against her pale skin. a’Shteru took them in, growling in doubt, refusing to believe what he saw before him.

//No. It cannot be. Why would a Marak-lai breed with one such as your people?//

//Why doesn’t matter, a’Shteru. All that matters is that they did and my words are true. So release me now.//

a’Shteru loosened his grip, bringing his bloody claws down. With an ill-grace he stalked back to his seat, threw himself down into the chair with a tense ease. He glared at Allura, openly discourteous, flexing claws digging deep gouges in the table. Allura ignored him and replaced the illusion that disguised her Ki’ir-ar heritage; she looked up once the lines were covered, coolly meeting a’Shteru’s mad glare. The silence weighed heavy in the room, uncomfortable and cloying, and a’Shteru was the first to break.

//So. You speak true. What do you want from me then, Ojo?//

//To help. Though you may not be my friend, a’Shteru, Keith was and I owe it to the bond we shared to help him -- even if he is gone.//

//Keith?// a’Shteru shuddered, sucked in a deep breath, blinked in confusion. He sagged forward, body drained of that tense mistrust, face losing the sharpness that had aged it so. The mad light in his black eyes slowly receded, dimming until it was nothing more than a tiny spark. He looked up slowly, lost and confused, suddenly looking so young and vulnerable. “Allura? What are you doing here? Where am I?”

“Keith?” Allura leaned forward, unsure if she should be glad that her friend was back or afraid for his sanity. “Is that you?”

“Of course. Who else would it be? Where am I, Allura?”

“You’re in my apartments in the Arus Consulate. Are you all right?”

“No.” Keith shuddered, face flickering between the hardness of a’Shteru and this suddenly open softness. “Allura, I need help. He’s in there, in the back of my head, telling me to kill everything. He wants to destroy all that he sees, make the rivers of every planet run red with the blood of the inhabitants and turn the earth barren until nothing can grow.” Eyes bright with tears, Keith turned his face up to Allura, begging, beseeching. “You have to help me. You have to kill me. Everyday he grows stronger, even though I’m growing more accustomed to this body. Everyday he tortures me with new memories, new pain. It -- I can’t control him, can’t make him go away.”

“Keith, I’m not going to let you die. You mean too much to me; besides, this injustice can go on no longer.” Allura cautiously crossed over to Keith’s side of the table, knelt down and placed one delicate hand on his arm. “I need to ask you a few questions. Is that okay? Do you think you can tell me what I need to know?”

“Allura, you don’t understand! I can’t let him stay! I -- Oh Gods, I’m remembering things that belong in the dreams of the insane. Please, Allura, you _must_ help me. I can’t -- ” Keith stopped, closed his eyes, breath coming in short gasps. “He...he says it’s all right. I don’t...I don’t know why, but for some reason he respects you.”

“All right.” Allura hated herself for doing this, but it was necessary; she _had_ to do this. “Would be easier to answer the questions if I asked them in Ki’ir-ar?”

Keith nodded sharply, jerkily.

//All right. Tell me, Keith, how old are you?//

//That depends. Keith has been around for fifteen years; everyone thinks he’s twenty-two. He...a’Shteru has been around for almost all of this body’s existence; thirty-two years. But this body was, technically, born in the first minute of the first day of the first month of the first year of this millennium.// Keith smiled sadly, gazed down at his hands. //I would have been the best Jao’xai seen on Nemai in generations if the attack hadn’t happened. Now there is too much blood to every follow that destiny. How can I create peace when I’m at war myself?//

 _Oh Goddess, he’s barely a fledgling! He should be sheltered in a Breshav-Aerie, not killing already. Especially if he’s destined to walk the path of a Jao’xai..._

//A Jao’xai? If you were destined for that Cosan, how did you become a Kreiger?//

//I am the Keith'an-skai, Allura-thegn. I am the only member of clan j’Khan, the only one who worships Anai.//

“You follow the Destroyer?” Allura stared at Keith in shock; and no small amount of fear. “Why?”

Keith ignored the question, too intent on his hands, that same, sad smile on his face. A pale light glowed between his cupped palms, coalesced into a delicate bird of purest white, so perfect in illusion that it seemed to come alive, to transcend that barrier between mirage and truth. //It would have been nice to bring joy.//

And in his hands the bird cried.


	24. Interlude

_Excerpts from transcript  
Talk With the Condemned  
Subject: Keith S. Tsumetai,  
a.k.a, a’Shteru, Ki’ir-ar of Nemai_

_Q: The Ki’ir-ar appear to have no visible economy. How, exactly, does your culture’s economy work?_

 _K: The Ki’ir-ar culture has no economy that is understandable from an outsider’s view point. I believe that the closest thing to the way the Ki’ir-ar economy works is the concept of a Communist society. Each Ki’ir-ar lives in an Aerie -- a sort of willage -- that is almost completely self-sufficient. Everything is made in the Aerie, from armor and weapons to clothing and toys. It’s a lot like living in a large family, and everyone works toward maintaining the happiness and prosperity of the Aerie as a whole. It’s a mind set, really, and sort of hard to explain. Anyway, because of the clan system there is no real social distinction between Ki’ir-ar; each works the fields, or hunts the land, providing meat and grain for the entire Aerie. It is a great honor to be thought of as a good provider for the Aerie, for if you have provided the most game, or worked the hardest on the land, the night’s feast is in your favor and you become the ‘king’ of the Aerie for that night. That’s a lot of fun._

 _Q: So if an Aerie isn’t a willage or town, what, exactly, is it? Where is it typically found, who lives in it...What, essentially, is the purpose of an Aerie?_

 _K: I suppose that you could call it a commune of sorts. It’s the most important thing in the Ki’ir-ar culture. You can’t be separate from your Aerie and still be a Ki’ir-ar; this is your life line, your home, family, loved ones, everything. The Aerie takes care of you, watches over you, raises you and heals you and helps you. And, though you may move from one Aerie to another, you’re still a part of that new Aerie; and in return for this protection, this comfort, you take care of the Aerie, feed and arm the members of the Aerie, guard the safety of its inhabitants -- prepare to give your own life for the well-being of the Aerie if necessary. The Aerie is more important than you are, and it defines who you are, more than clan or blood-line or any other sort of title._

 _As for where it’s found...well, most Aeries are found in the cliffs of Nemai. This is why we don’t have any buildings; those caves and holes that are normally found in a mountain are turned into Nests -- um, ‘homes’ I guess. And if there aren’t enough caves, than we make them. However, since most Ki’ir-ar don’t like to alter nature, some Aeries can be found in the deepest parts of the forest. There are more ‘normal’ homes there, although they’re usually made from lacing the branches of a living tree together or ‘growing’ your own Nest in the branches of the tall, old trees by planting and shaping vines and bushes and other types of flora on the branches and in the crannies. Some Ki’ir-ar use the hollow shells of dead trees for their Nests, or use Ground Caves, but those are very rare indeed and never last long as Nests. The inhabitants of an Aerie are usually pretty well mixed between three of the four Cosan -- the Clan paths. They’re normal people, in general; they hunt and farm and play just the same as any other sort. They pray to their gods and celebrate special days, obey the Laws of the Aerie and raise their brood as best they can. Not all Ki’ir-ar are like those seen on the vid-screens._

 _Q: So, how does an Aerie work? Is there a leader of some sort? A mayor or governor or something similar?_

 _K: There’s no real leader in an Aerie. Most of the decisions concerning the Aerie are made by the Clan Elders and the Aerie leader; that’s really just an honorific assigned to the Clan Elder elected to represent the Aerie in the Flock. A Flock is just the name we use for a gathering of Aeries, sort of like a...district or province. The Flock-leader is also elected from the council of Aerie-leaders and sent to the Rein-Aerie, the Royal Aerie. It’s one of the two Aeries that isn’t set up in a commune, because this is the...hub of the Ki’ir-ar government. The Marak-lai and their family live here, and this is the only ‘building’ that the Ki’ir-ar have in the traditional sense. It looks a lot like a mountain, but it’s really rather different -- lots of large halls and open spaces and wide windows to let the wind sweep through clean and unimpeded._

 _The second type of unusual Aerie is the Breshav-Aerie. It’s the place where one learns everything there is to know about his Cosan. It’s very similar to the Universities and Academies that are found in the Alliance, save for the lack of ‘buildings’. There are four Breshav-Aeries, one for each Cosan, and each area of study in that Cosan is separate and distinct. While it is true that each Fledgling -- the disciple of the Cosan -- studies mostly that which best suits them, every aspect of the Way is studied, until the Fledgling can say that they have truly mastered every aspect of their Way._

 _Q: If there is no formal government, then what -- or who -- is the Marak-lai?_

 _K: We do have a formal government; it’s sort of like a monarchy, except that there is no true central power. Anyway, a Marak-lai is the Wind Speaker. I suppose he’s the ‘King’ of the Ki’ir-ar, even though he doesn’t really fit that title. He’s responsible for the larger things that go on in our culture, like the major...trials in our culture, and watching over the Aldersine. He lives in the Rein-Aerie, along with his family, and he’s addressed two ways; as ‘Marak-lai’ or with the suffix ‘kai’ attached to his name. Those of his line are addressed as Oja/Ojo -- prince/princess -- or with the suffix ‘thegn’. The reason the Marak-lai and his clan are so important is because they are the only Ki’ir-ar to naturally posses all four Cosan. They are the peace keepers of the Ki’ir-ar, and because of the Marak-lai, we no longer have Aerie wars, where one Aerie seeks to wipe out the other. Instead, there are tournaments and contest between the Aeries; which is a good thing, because this tends to satisfy all the blood-cravings._

 _Q: What are the Cosan? Are they a type of ‘clan’?_

 _K: The Cosan are the clans. They are the different paths that may be taken by a Ki’ir-ar, and determine what...slot that Ki’ir-ar will have in society. There are four of them: Kreiger (the Warrior clans), Akush’ai (the Scholar clans), Zhiyu (the Healer clans) and the Jao’xai (the Joy Bringer clans). Although this really doesn’t describe the different Cosan that well. They’re...more complex than that._

 _The Kreiger, for example, aren’t just fighters. They are greatly skilled in all the arts of war; arms, tactics and leadership. You have to have some skill in all three, even if it’s only a minimal amount. They also tend to work alone or in small bands. Kreiger are naturally attuned to each other, possessing a sort of...sixth sense that lets them know another’s movements. They have to be skilled like this, because Kreiger attacks are rarely planned. In fact, there is no ‘army’ in the Ki’ir-ar culture, only banded Kreiger. I suppose you could consider a clan to be an army of sorts, but though there are few clans, the members of each clan are widely spread throughout the Aeries. Kreiger also tend to be in perfect harmony with the world around them, knowing almost instantaneously the advantages and disadvantages of the land they fight on. They also tend to have a...niche of sorts. Kreiger who compliment each other tend to stick together, even if they fight alone. These Celai are very powerful because they are so efficient; true Kreiger can fight together, but Celai have a special bond...a special something about them that makes them particularly fearsome._

 _Q: And the Akush’ai and Zhiyu and Jao’xai? What are they?_

 _K: Well, the Akush’ai are...scholars in the broadest sense. They’re really more like priests, except that the Gods actually answer the Akush’ai. They have a very personal relationship with their chosen God or Goddess, talking to them personally and bequeathed with great powers because of this relationship. There are as many clans as there are Deities; technically there are thirty clans, for the thirty Heavenly Ones, but because of the war and the capture of our young, there are only...oh, I’d say ten practicing clans at the most. Every Aerie has their own Akush’ai clan -- though some Aeries have two -- and follow the commandments of their local deity. Still, Akush’ai aren’t there only to walk the path to the Gods. They are also the sages of the Ki’ir-ar and posses three gifts: great wisdom, great magic and great sight. Nobody knows what the last is for it’s the rarest of gifts; at least in it’s true form. Second sight is common, as well as the ability to scry, but Great Sight...that’s almost never happened. The Akush’ai can wield the power of Nature and often accompany the Kreiger into battle, to provide an arcane back up. They only have destructive magic, though._

 _The Zhiyu are the ones that have the healing power. They’re the most important member of the Sangsau -- the Bloody Triad -- since they’re the ones that keep the Kreiger and the Akush’ai fit. They are the Tri-healers, the healers of mind, body and soul. Despite being weak compared to the Ki’ir-ar and the Akush’ai, their skills are greatly valued; particularly the healer of souls. It’s because of their abilities that there are so few Aldersine, which is definitely a good thing. They posses the White Magics, the magic of health and renewal, rather than the magics of destruction that the Akush’ai have, and they can heal all wounds that come their way. Of course, the healing tends to sap their life-length, aging them quicker than normal. Also, they take the pain of the wound and the healing into themselves, siphoning off their patients agony and dealing with it themselves. This is why a Zhiyu doesn’t heal themselves; the pain is doubled and very few of them are strong enough to handle that. Indeed, it’s not uncommon to hear of a Zhiyu dying after a healing. Of course, there are a lot of Zhiyu, and they are well known for the selflessness. They never hesitate to put others well-being before their own._

 _As for the Jao’xai, well, they’re a very special case. This is the only Cosan that has no application to war. The Jao’xai are the Peace Makers; in fact, their name is generally translated into Joy Bringers in the common tongue. They are our...artists. They are the actors, the musicians, the authors, the painters, sculptors, molders of beauty. They create beauty from everything and are the rarest of all Ki’ir-ar; this is why they are so greatly prized, and why there are very strict laws about their treatment. It’s the Jao’xai who make the other clans so fierce, for the Jao’xai are the least combat able of the Ki’ir-ar. They can’t defend themselves properly against attacks, and so all the other clans band together to protect them. They are, in essence, Peace, and it is tantamount to death to harm a Jao’xai in any way. They are the most beloved of all the Ki’ir-ar and tend to be nomadic so they can spread their joy through out all the Aeries. A Hatchling who shows promise of following the Jao’xai path is greatly prized and is pretty spoiled too, I must admit. They are so skilled at their craft that they can actual stop the blood lust and leave those who see their work or see them perform feeling a serenity that lasts for days. Their skills are threefold as well; skill in written beauty, skill in visual beauty and skill in spoken beauty. They posses the ability to create illusions that are so real that they can make the rest of the world seem like a misty dream, and even the bleakest spirit is calmed by their presence. Because their entire purpose is to bring peace and joy to others, they are the most selfless of the Ki’ir-ar, always willing to sacrifice everything they have and are for the greater good. Even if that sacrifice isn’t recognized._

 _Q: Wow, it seems that fighting is a very important part of the Ki’ir-ar culture._

 _K: Yes. To fight is to live, to live is to fight. Death, pain, loss -- it’s all part of being a Ki’ir-ar and being a fighter. We have to fight, even if it’s non-combative. In fact, for the true fighter -- no, I’ll not say, least I become a Quizha klai. I’m a special case and what I believe isn’t necessarily the same thing as what the rest of my people believe._

 _Q: Quizha klai?_

 _K: False-speaker. That’s a major insult for the Ki’ir-ar. It’s almost akin to being called a Trahison -- which literally means ‘honorless betrayer who hides in the shadows and befouls the winds’._

 _Q: Why?_

 _K: Well, the foundation of the Ki’ir-ar culture is built upon five basic beliefs: Courage, Truth, Honor, Wisdom and Justice; well, these are the very basics, there are many sub-categories, of course. Anyway, even though there is no real ‘hierarchy’ of beliefs, Honor is by far and away the most important. Though the joy of the fight and the freedom of flight are the two basic needs of every Ki’ir-ar, above even those is the desire to be Honorable. To be Sans Mei’yo, Without Honor, is to be beyond even the Zhiyu’s help. You are scum, you are lower than a worm, stripped of all that is worthy in your life. You are, in essence, completely, utterly, totally and entirely worthless..._


	25. Chapter 25

Date: August 6th, 10039 A.U  
Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1830 STG

 _“..today certainly seems to be a day for surprises. Not only was the execution of the Ki’ir-ar slave VN-666-873-92, the leader of the slave revolt back in ‘14, canceled, but Arus has also taken an actual hand in the Alliance. This is something that hasn’t happened since 9780. Trust the Arusians to have a flashy entrance, though; their Princess, one Allura Alari, was responsible for the Ki’ir-ar’s stay of execution. However, not being satisfied with merely halting a slave execution, she is also demanding that the Ki’ir-ar enslavement be reconsidered by the Council -- maybe even abolished. Well, good luck to her. She’s definitely going to need it._

 _“That’s not the last of todays shockers, though. Last night, Zarkon, Emperor of the Doom Empire died, leaving his son Lotor as the new Emperor. The first act of the new Emperor was to petition the Alliance for readmission into the Alliance, claiming that Zarkon’s defection was the work of a madman and that his planet should be given its old place in the Alliance; his second act was to flee his planet before the angry mobs of Doom-ians tore him apart. His current location is unknown, but it is believed that he’s somewhere on New Earth. Not exactly the best way to start one’s reign, I would think. There is an investigation pending to determine whether Zarkon’s death was from natural causes, as Lotor insists, or from foul play._

 _“In sports today, the Jackovans trounced the Liranais fifty to seven in the Terran-Haspur grovlack game...”_

The V.S shut off with a slow whine, irising to black with much crackling as static danced across the screen. Lance threw down the remote with a sigh, stood and paced restlessly about the small parlor. He felt antsy, nervously wound and anxious do something, _anything_ just so long as it didn’t involve sitting here, helpless and bored stiff.

“Stop that.” Pidge’s voice was filled with a weary resignation; not surprising considering how much he had put up with over the last two weeks. The younger man’s nerves had been run ragged since he had ‘volunteered’ to watch over Lance. His friend had been plagued by constant doubt ever since Asher had been dropped in their laps; and those dark demons had only grow stronger as the days passed on. It had gotten to the point where Lance questioned everything, where even the slightest decision would send him into fits of worry and self-doubt.

It was not pleasant to see the normally cocky pilot fall so low.

Lance sighed and paused near the door to the next chamber, frowning as he listened for the soft, singing words of the occupants. It was beautiful, true, but Lance wished they would switch to basic, wished he could understand their words. But there was no noise from the other side of the thick door, and Lance worried more about this silence than whatever was said in the bird’s tongue of the Ki’ir-ar. His frowned deepened and his hand strayed to the door knob.

“Don’t even think about it, Lance. She said no one was to disturb them.”

Lance glared at Pidge, but dropped his hand back down and walked away. He paced to the room’s long couch and dropped down into the depression his body had created in the soft cushions. His hand quested for the remote and Pidge resigned himself to yet another round of channel surfing, pacing and sighing. He pushed his round glasses further up his face, and reached for the text on Alliance Laws that Allura had dug up for him. If nothing else, he could get a jump on some of tomorrows proceedings.

“Sir, you can’t!”

Both Lance and Pidge looked up at the shout; then jumped to their feet as the door was thrown open. Lance’s hand closed around the hilt of his laser, had it half-drawn by the time the intruder stormed into the room, yellow eyes blazing and white hair disheveled.

“Where is she? Where’s Allura?”

“Lotor,” Lance spat the name out. “What the hell are you doing here.” The laser was fully out of Lance’s holster now, trained on the Doom Emperor’s head.

“Where’s Allura? I _must_ see her!” The blue-skinned Emperor scanned the room with bright eyes, voice demanding and insistent.

“No way, Lotor. I don’t care how many Alliance heads you’ve tricked, but you can’t fool me. I know a snake when I see one.”

“Lance, put down the gun.” Pidge tugged on his friend’s arm. “Lotor’s on our side.”

“Like hell he is!”

“Where is she! Answer me, damn it!” Lotor loomed over Lance, eyes dark and menacing. “Answer me!”

“What the hell is going on out here?” Allura snapped irritably, appearing in the dark doorway to the other room. She glared at the three boys, took in Lance and Lotor staring each other down, Lance’s gun still raised, Lotor’s hand gripping the hilt of his sword. “I thought I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“Allura!” Lotor turned toward the princess, face alight with relief. He started toward her, hand still on his sword.

“Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” Lance’s gun touched the soft skin behind Lotor’s ear, freezing the blue-skinned emperor. “I don’t care what sort of bullshit you’ve fed to the rest of the Alliance, but I trust you only as far as I can spit and that’s not far at all. So, why don’t you just turn around, walk away and I don’t have to blow out your lying brains, hmm?”

“I could have you court martialled for this. You can’t threaten the head of an Alliance planet.” Lotor stood stiffly, eyes staring straight ahead, voice almost empty of fear -- almost, but not quite.

“Well, you’d have to be alive to complain, now than wouldn’t you. So, unless you want your brain spread across these rather nice accommodations, I suggest you leave.”

“Lance, put the gun down,” Allura sighed, rubbing her weary eyes with one hand. The day was just too long.

“Why?” Lance turned toward the princess, thin brow furrowed in anger, lips curled back into a snarl. “He’s tried to destroy us! Why should we just let him waltz in here?” He gestured violently with the gun, inadvertently pointing the shining barrel at Allura.

“Because -- ”

But that was as far as Allura got before something pale and gleaming pushed her aside with an angry snarl. Faster than she could comprehend, Keith streaked past her, all smooth, dangerous, floating lines. With an almost manic fury he leapt on Lance, talons biting into the thick leather of the pilot’s prized jacket, hauling the stunned boy high and pressing him against the wall.

“ _Ne aral tevar Allura-thegn! Ver hasten barak denar!_ ” The singing tones of the Ki’ir-ar tongue sounded beautiful even when Keith was snarling them out, lips pulled back ferally, eyes blazing with a light that was at once beautiful and frightening. Lance gasped as he was shaken, head slamming painfully against the wall, surprised and terribly afraid of the sudden new strength in Keith’s arms.

“L-let me go!” he gasped out, teeth rattling as Keith shook him. Through the blur of pain-tears, he saw Lotor approaching, sword already half out, yellow eyes gleaming with a vindictive light. He stopped, however, when Allura laid a hand upon his arm, shaking her head in warning.

Keith shook Lance again, snarled out more words in the beautiful language. “ _Yahban tsuaral mechal! Bervn asar._ ”

Lance choked on the pain. “K-Keith stop. Y-you’re h-hurting me.”

“ _Te’ear Allura-thegn!_ ”

“I d-don’t understand!”

 _“Te’ear Allura-thegn! Hasten barak! Ne illar Kevas Marak-lai!”_

“P-please, Keith, stop!”

 _“a’Shteru! Hanaman ver-stafan!”_ The words sounded vaguely wrong in Allura’s mouth, lacking in Keith’s lilting quality. They were harsher when she spoke and for some reason Lance felt strangely affronted to hear the words come from Allura -- even though what she said was probably saving him.

“ _Ysar a’zaran! Qi ma yas’den._ ” The talons dug in deeper, piercing his flesh, and then further until they were buried in the warm, wet muscle. Lance whimpered, felt the razor edges scraping on the bones of his ribs with every shaking breath. “ _Hasan mer xao, Allura-thegn. Ilan t’ushev.”_

 _“Fara n’jas, a’Shteru._ Lance _eliomn. Hanaman cazar!_ ”

Growling, Keith unwillingly put Lance down, pulled his talons from their fleshy sheath. Lance moaned and crumpled to the ground, curling in on himself as the lush, red blood soaked through the leather in the ten perfect punctures. Keith stood uncaring above him, eyes hard and filled with psychotic joy. Lance stared up at him with pain glazed eyes, confused, afraid and yet still somehow awed by the changes wrought in his old lover. It was as if all the hard qualities that had marked Keith back when they were just starting out had been exaggerated, magnified until they stood out in painful dominance. The way he clenched his jaw was harder now, his face seemed all sharp, painful angles, his eyes dark coals that sucked away life and light. Seeing him now, without the dark mane to soften his features, his entire body tense and angry, was more painful than the wounds that Keith’s talons had inflicted on him. It almost made him want to cry to know that those wonderful, tiny, beautiful soft parts to Keith were gone, burned away by whatever ordeal he had undergone over the past two weeks, and only the hard and raging parts were left.

“Keith...” Lance tried to uncurl, to stand and reach out, pull the hard form into his arms, love him and comfort him until the sharpness blunted, the harsh edges softened. But the pain was too great.

 _“Zar’galan.”_ Keith spat on Lance, turned away. _“Yes marr Allura-thegn?”_

 _“Ba, a’Shteru. Kilan masha goesvan.”_ Allura glared at Keith and pointed insistently at the door to the other room. _“Cazar!”_

 _“Xao mai, Allura-thegn.”_ Keith bowed low, mockingly almost, and stalked past the angry princess a soft smirk on his face.

 _“Vas hafen, a’Shteru._ Lance _bev mes carn Seelesorge a_ Keith.” Allura’s voice was soft and full of heavy warning. _“Isvar mer allarn.”_

Keith paused at the dark doorway, rigid form trembling suddenly, body seeming to curl in on itself, loosing those sharp edges and turning soft and young, almost child-like in it’s hurt frailty. He turned slightly, face open in a strange pain, eyes flicking to look back at Lance’s crumpled form. He stared at the frozen foursome, eyes a black wound in his pale face, a gaping, weeping void of dark anguish, mouth working silently. Allura glared at him, face darkened by her anger, muscles trembling slightly.

 _“Cazar!”_

Bowing his head in submissive acquiescence, Keith slipped into the darkness, the door swinging softly closed behind him.

Allura sighed and closed her eyes. “Pidge, go get a doctor. We need to stitch Lance up. Make sure it’s one of the Arusian doctors; we _don’t_ want the media to know about this; Goddess help us if that happens.”

Pidge nodded and gently headed down the corridor in search of a doctor. Allura walked over to Lance’s curled form and knelt beside him. “How bad is it?”

“N-not too bad,” Lance stammered. “Just...painful.”

Allura nodded slowly and stroked her friend’s chestnut mop. “I know. He didn’t mean it, Lance. He thought you were threatening me. I don’t -- ” She stopped, hmmed deep in her throat. “Well, he didn’t mean it.”

“Allura...what the hell is going on here?” Lotor knelt beside his fiancee, confused and angry. Allura smiled at him, cold and humorless.

“Welcome to the Alliance, love. It’s a whole new type of war.”

~~~

He didn’t know how long he sat in the semi-darkness, bare skin chilled by the cold wind that swept over it in cycles. He could hear what they were saying about him, hear the angry, sharp shouts as they argued over his fate. He knew that Lotor wanted him dead, heard the newly crowned emperor ranting about how much of a danger he was. And then there was Pidge and Allura’s higher voices, protesting, agreeing, arguing. They were fighting over him; even when he wasn’t wielding a weapon he caused war. Keith laid his head down on the table, saddened by that thought.

 _What’s wrong with me? Why do I inspire so much turmoil?_ He sighed and sat back up, gazed down at his hands, at the blood that stained the sharp talons. _Oh Gods. I can’t believe I did that. I_ hurt _him! And it felt so good._ Keith shuddered. _It felt so good...So incredible good. But -- but I hurt him. I hurt my Seelesorge, my Tamashii. It’s_ his _blood that stains my hands,_ his _pain that I delighted in. How could I do it? How could I enjoy digging my talons into him, burying them deep in his chest?_

“...destroy him! He’s a menace! A monster! Look at what he did to Lance.” Lotor’s voice floated closer, growing louder as he approached.

 _He’s right. I_ should _be destroyed._ Keith sighed again and brought his bloody talons closer to his face, gazed vacantly at the way the dark liquid gleamed in the dim light. _I hurt him._

“Lotor, Lance is going to be fine. You heard the doctor. But if you go in there and start threatening him, I _know_ that you won’t come out alive. Now come away...” Allura’s voice grew strong, then faded, her light footsteps barely audible. Keith sighed and bowed his head, wondered again why they had saved him, why he had once more been pulled away from the brink of death.

 _Ahh, Anai, once more you honor my vow._ The bitter thought floated up from the mad depths of his brain, whispered by a’Shteru who lurked there, drenched in violence and horribly, painfully patient. _I don’t know if I should thank you or hate you for that._

 _Stop it. Get out of my head!_ You’re _the one who hurt Lance! You’re the one that caused this!_ Keith howled at himself, angry voice chasing the demons that crouched looming within him.

 _But I’m also the one who can heal him._ a’Shteru grinned in the darkness, called up the memories of healing, the memories of their Zhiyu training. _You can take away the pain, Keith. You can make your Tamashii whole again._

 _What’s the catch?_ Wary, distrustful of this part of himself, Keith circled around the offer.

 _No catch. Not really. Do you want to help your Tamashii or not?_

 _Fine. Show me._ Keith closed his eyes, took a moment to wonder what he was doing, what he was agreeing too, before standing and slipping out of the darkened room. He slunk along the shadowed edges, silent and unnoticed by the three arguing forms. It was almost too easy to move in this spacious room, with the only ones who could stop him too distracted to notice him even if he had strolled through the center of the room. He almost wanted back those old days when all of his skill as a Kreiger had been tested and he had slunk through the forest and plains of Nemai, striking with swift violence at all his enemies, appearing as a ghost in their midst before disappearing entirely; an apparition of death with snarling, foaming lips and dark, blood-red wings and claws the black of dried blood. Those were the days...back then he had meaning, back then he had a purpose.

 _Stop it. Get out of there, a’Shteru. I don’t care what you think, but I_ do _have a purpose._ We _have a purpose. And I’m not going to let you kill those I love; even if I have to kill us to stop you._

Keith glared, turned his mind back to thoughts of Lance, slipped past his arguing friends and into the small bedroom. He ghosted across the dark, silent room to the silent form that lay alone in the large bed.

 _He looks so lost. So helpless..._

 _I could kill him with a thought,_ a’Shteru’s voice whispered softly. _His blood looks so nice...why not spill it? Shame to keep such a wonderful color hidden._

 _No!_

Shaking, shuddering at these thoughts, Keith sucked in deep breaths of the cold air and contemplated just leaving now before the dark demon could get free. He was tempted to just turn around now, sneak back into his room and sit once more at the cold desk. Better this than run the risk of a’Shteru killing his beloved.

Then Lance moaned and turned in restless, drugged pain, one hand moving gently to his bandaged chest. Those deep, pale brown pools fluttered open, long soft lashes parting with the reluctance of lovers ending a kiss. He gazed on Keith’s trembling form with those large doe-eyes, unafraid, unsurprised. Just...watchful. Curious.

“Keith.”

“Lance...Oh Kami, I’m sorry.” Keith slipped forward, knelt at Lance’s bedside, one hand straying out to hover above the white bandages that wrapped his friend’s chest. “I -- I didn’t mean to...”

“I know.” Lance closed his eyes.

“D-does it hurt?”

“Not much. The doctor’s pills help.” His eyes opened again, this time hard with an accusing glare. “Why did you do it?”

“I-I don’t know.” Keith sighed and stood, climbed onto the bed and straddled the other boy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Keith, what -- ”

“Shh.” Keith smiled sadly, gently, and placed one finger on Lance’s lips, stilling the protest. He reached down, razored claws touching the clean bandages. He caressed them, stroked the white bands gently, then sliced down, cutting through them with quick, neat strokes. Lance gasped as his wounds were exposed to the cold air, sucked in a breath at the strange sensation of prickling pain that sent shivers down his spine. He looked questioningly up at Keith, opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again at the slight shake of Keith’s head. Keith smiled again, held out his hands over the dark, weeping holes, closed his eyes and concentrated.

For a long time, nothing happened, and Lance could only stare at the strange sight of Keith with his eyes closed and pale flesh gleaming in the narrow sliver of light from the slightly open door. He shivered, cold and in pain, wondered what game Keith was playing now. Which was why the when the change came it was so unexpected.

At first it was subtle, a faint humming sound that was barely heard -- more felt, really. Slowly the noise resolved itself into a distant pounding noise, a drum that was primal and strange. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Slow. Methodical. Then louder. And louder. Increasing in strength, until the very air seemed to vibrate with the noise. Wild. Exotic. Insistent.

Then there were two of them, beating sometimes as one, but more often than not as two different threads. Ba-da-bump. Ba-da-bump. They wove together, confusing, intricate, compelling. Lance tried to follow the two threads, eyes unconsciously flicking back and forth as if he could actually see the threads. His mouth hung open as the noise claimed him, possessed him.

The threads twined about each other, harmonizing, swelling in tempo, until suddenly they were one, beating together in perfection. Lance smiled, strangely pleased by this merge, by the fusion of the two threads. He cast his gaze up Keith, wondered if the other boy had caught the noise, wondered if he was as strangely moved by the meshing as he had been. But it was immediately obvious that Keith had other things on his mind.

The Ki’ir-ar was surrounded by a blue light, pale and pristine, almost the blue-silver of moonlight on the sea. It shivered and wavered off of his arms, spread itself out into the skeleton of wings, the memory of flight. The light shone brightest on his hands, where it arced from Keith to Lance and spread a cooling, soothing, _clean_ feeling throughout his chest that was only now noticed. Lance gasped at the sensation, found his breath coming shorter at the icy, wonderful, healing burn that claimed his flesh.

Then, suddenly, it was over and the light disappeared with a sudden snap, snuffed out by some giant, invisible hand. Lance blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his momentarily blinded eyes, reached out to touch Keith even as the other boy almost toppled off the bed. He glanced at Keith in worry, frowning at the sudden age that marred the other boy’s face; he was weary, exhausted as though he had done some strenuous exercise, and clutching at his chest as though in pain.

“Keith?”

“I’m fine. You should probably rest. Though it may not seem so, Healing takes a lot out of both parties. Tell Allura to bring you something with a lot of carbolytes.” Keith winced, stood on trembling legs, walked unsteadily to the large bed and the thin figure lying on it. He smiled down at Lance, brushed away the hair with careful gentleness, kissed his cool forehead. “I didn’t mean it, Lance. Believe me, I would never hurt you intentionally. Now, sleep.” Keith slipped from the room, still graceful despite the drained energy that had come from the Healing, pausing only briefly at the door to steady his weakend body.

And then he was gone and Lance lay alone in the quiet, cold, dark room; alone with only his thoughts as companions.


	26. Interlude

_Excerpts from transcript  
Talk With the Condemned  
Subject: Keith S. Tsumetai,  
a.k.a, a’Shteru, Ki’ir-ar of Nemai_

_Q: You mentioned the Ki’ir-ar Gods earlier. Does each God have a sect in every Aerie?_

 _K: No. The Gods watch over specific regions of Nemai, so an Aerie usually has two to three deities watching over it. However, because of the high death rate, only the ten deities of the Battlefield still have Akush’ai -- beyond the teachers, that is. There must be teachers else the Way would die. Still, those are old and not able to help in battle. The other deities are still around, but none have anyone actively swearing fidelity to them._

 _Q: And what about the rest of the Ki’ir-ar? Do they worship specific deities as well?_

 _K: Well, normally you worship the deities of your Aerie, because those are the ones that affect you the most, discounting the Five whom everyone worships. Still, everyone knows the names of all the Gods, and they’re all called upon, even if you aren’t an active follower._

 _Q: Which Gods do you worship?_

 _K: I worship one deity; I am the sole worshiper of Anai, the Destroyer. Which also makes me her Akush’ai, I suppose._

 _Q: Why does she have only one worshiper?_

 _K: Because she stands for everything that the Ki’ir-ar hate. She destroys. We are sworn not to destroy. Even in war we do not destroy. We are not like the Alliance; if it is at all possible, the Ki’ir-ar prefer to defeat without inflicting harm. Because we are part of the natural world, we wish to preserve the natural world. This is why all of our homes are made of natural materials; it’s not because we are incapable of constructing buildings, but because we prefer the natural beauty of the world around us to that of the constructed._

 _More than that, however, is Anai’s attitude toward existence. She is the thrirty-first Goddess, the only one who doesn’t fit the mode, doesn’t have an appropriate place in the pattern. Because she is so out of sync with the patterns of life and the world, it is understandable that she wishes to ruin it. She fouls the threads that bind us together and weave us into the Great Tapestry. Worse, she profanes the sanctity of battle. It is the belief of the Ki’ir-ar that war is an honorable thing. True, our definition of war is by far and away different than yours, but in the Ki’ir-ar culture war is not about gaining dominance over another, but rather one more test of your skill. Yes, there is blood lust, and yes, there are often dead after our wars, but more often than not the point of our battles are to impress our skill upon our enemies rather than harm them. The best battle is one won without bloodshed, one won by skill alone. It’s almost like a great game of tag, where the most courageous and most honorable of warriors can touch their opponent without being touched themselves. Anyone can kill; it takes a truly great warrior to incapacitate with just a touch._

 _But Anai doesn’t believe in such things. She is the Destroyer for a reason; everything she touches becomes fouled, everything she gazes on becomes corrupt. The wars fought in her name are bloodbaths, massacres of innocents and warriors alike. Her path is marked by desolation; by land raped and left barren by her warriors; by disease that wastes away the body in slow agony; by mangled corpses who lie in grotesque death and slowly rot, uncared for and unmourned because all who would weep at their fate are dead as well. She guides the soldiers of the Alliance to our Aeries, lends them her eyes until every shot flies true and hits one of our warriors. She is the only Goddess to desire the annihilation of our race, and has plotted against the Ki’ir-ar since they first stood on two legs and gazed blinking up at the sun. Her purpose is to destroy, and it is only a matter of time before those who worship her are destroyed as well. There is only one Ki’ir-ar who would be foolish enough to tie their soul to hers, to embrace her and welcome her and follow her: the Keith’an-skai. They have nothing left to lose, now, and it is only their hatred that sustains them. Not even the Aldersine have sunk so low._

 _Q: What are the Aldersine? I’ve heard them mentioned before._

 _K: They are the Soulless Ones -- well, the true Aldersine are. At least that’s how we define them on Nemai. From what I understand of the Outer Settlements, the definition has been...bent a little. Anyway, I suppose that you would call them Berserkers in the common tongue, because they have no fear of dying. They are more...bloodthirsty than the rest of the Kreiger, and posses the powers of the Akush’ai. Aldersine come almost exclusively from the Kreiger clans, usually those who have seen too many battles, or escaped from the Alliance soldiers. But, they are few and far between, thanks to the efforts of the Zhiyu. Still, they are very dangerous. Very, very dangerous. For, because they don’t fear death, they don’t hesitate to kill. After all, what is Honor to one without a soul?_

 _Q: And who is the Keith’an-skai?_

 _K: He is vengeance. He is hatred. He is loss and pain. He is past the point of the Aldersine, for he lives to wreck vengeance upon those who hurt him. His name means Vengeance Seeker, and he is next to immortal. Being the acolyte of Anai grants this sad being certain powers; he becomes Kreiger, Akush’ai and Zhiyu. He excels at killing, at hurting and at destruction. And he lives until his vengeance is spent, through pain unimaginable and fatal wounds -- Death will not visit the Keith’an-skai, Anai makes sure of that._

 _He is even more dangerous than the Aldersine because he desires to live. The Aldersine tend to attack without much thought. The Keith’an-skai lives for vengeance, is consumed by vengeance. And so, he attacks with thought, with careful consideration. But he attacks with the same brutality of the Aldersine, fights with the same bloodthirsty flair for death. There is nothing honorable or courageous about the way he fights; he sneaks through the tall grass, swoops down from the trees, ambushes and massacres all those who appear to him as enemies. He does not try to win a battle without bloodshed, he doesn’t try to incapacitate without harming, to merely touch rather than kill. No, he fights to kill, fights to drown the land in the blood of his enemies. And he fights so that he may live again, fights so that he may fight tomorrow and the day after and again and again until his vengeance is sated._

 _Alone, lost, and slowly destroyed, eaten away from within by his tie to the Destroyer, this is the fate of the Keith’an-skai. I should know. He is me._


	27. Chapter 27

Date: August 7th, 10039 A.U  
Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0730 STG

Allura rubbed her hair vigorously, the soft white towel mussing the long golden strands until it was just one tangled mess. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror, disliking the way the mop of hair framed her face. Maybe she should cut the strands shorter -- they only seemed to get in the way more and more these days. Besides, what was she keeping her hair long for anyway? It only made her look younger, made people underestimate her.

 _Oh wait. That’s why._ Grinning at her tousled reflection, she stuck her tongue out at the mirror, and laughed softly at her childish antics.

”Mmm. I could definitely get used to this.” Lotor wrapped his arms around Allura, gently nuzzled the soft skin of her neck. Allura smiled and leaned back into his strong arms. ”When will we marry, love?”

”After this. I promise, Lotor.”

Lotor nodded and kissed the side of his fiancee’s neck, tugged at the large, white towel that was wrapped around her thin form. ”I missed you so much, Allura,” he whispered into her long, wet hair.

”I missed you too, _Seelsorge_ ,” Allura murmured, then laughed softly. ”But we can’t do that right now, love.”

”What does that mean anyway, Allura?” Lotor trailed after the golden haired woman, grabbing her arm and pulling her into a loose embrace. ”You keep using it, but you never tell me what it means.”

”’Most beloved in my heart’ with the connotations that it’s a sexual relationship, not a familial one; it’s the equivalent of ’promised to each other’ as well, I suppose. It’s Ki’ir-ar so, of course, a literal translation is going to be hard.” Lotor grimaced and pulled away. Allura sighed. ”What’s wrong?”

”It’s not you, love, it’s just that -- ”

” -- that I use Ki’ir-ar. That I’m a quarter Ki’ir-ar. Lotor, you couldn’t possibly have been more than an adolescent when your father defected from the Alliance. How could you hate them so much?”

”I don’t _hate_ them, Allura. I just...don’t like it.” Lotor ran his hands through his hair, pushing the white locks back. ”I just -- they’re so _violent._ How can you trust something that might turn on you and rip out your throat as easily as it would shake your hand?”

”Lotor. Your ’its’ are _my_ people. You’re talking about _me._ ” Allura frowned. ”I know it’s hard. I’ve seen the propaganda too. But, love, you have to understand. The Alliance took everything they held dear away from them. They destroyed families, enslaved _children._ Children! If everything you knew was taken, wouldn’t you fight back?”

”I know. I know! It’s just -- Damn it, Allura, I wasn’t _raised_ with them!” Lotor’s yellow eyes were blazing, suddenly filled with anger as he gave into the tension that ran beneath their banal words, spoke the thoughts that both had struggled to keep hidden from each other. ”Gods, I’m trying so hard not to piss you off right now, and I just can’t do it! Yes, I think that what the Alliance does is wrong. Yes, stripping the ’humanity’ from any sentient being is evil. But, damn it Allura, you can’t wage a fucking war against the _Alliance._ Your father tried that and look where he ended up! Alone, friendless, condemned by the very institute his ancestors founded -- all because he was just too damn arrogant. Gods, Allura, I don’t want you to die like him, shamed and thrown to the wolves!”

”My father didn’t do _anything_ wrong! He was just trying to help his planet! How can you call that wrong? How can you say that he turned against the Alliance?”

”Because, he did. Your father pissed off the Alliance. _Arus_ pissed off the Alliance. Hells, Allura, you’re fighting an uphill battle here. You’ve got to be _extremely_ careful. The Alliance doesn’t like Arus. New Earth _hates_ Arus -- and New Earth controls everything that the rest of the Alliance thinks or does. You represent a dangerous variable to the Terrans; they won’t hesitate to exterminate you.”

Allura stalked away, back straight with anger. ”How _dare_ you talk to me like that!”

”What, how dare I tell you the truth? You’ve got to face it _some_ time. You can’t keep hiding behind whatever illusions you might have.” Lotor rubbed his eyes and sat with a weary sigh. ”Look at what happened to you during your fight with Doom. _Bhern_ wouldn’t help you and they’ve been your allies since you sponsored their admission into the Alliance! Hells, the most you got out of them was a promise to take two ships of refugees! New Earth is the uncrowned tyrant of the Alliance; they have enough power to refuse aide to one of the Founders. You can’t just waltz in there tomorrow expecting to take your place as _primus iner pares._ A lot has changed since the last Arusian representative sat in the Council -- they hate _you_ , Allura, hate Arus for its apparent superiority. Your civil wars don’t matter to your ’allies’; all that matters to these long-memoried bastards is that it looks like Arus washed her hands of the Alliance three thousand years ago and only looks on the rest of the planets with contempt.”

”And why are you telling me this, Lotor? Whose side are you on?” Allura glared at her lover, feet planted firmly, body radiating hostility.

”Gods if I know.”

”What! You don’t know? How can you not know? You’re either for it, or you’re against it.” Allura’s eyes hardened and she glanced down at Lotor’s crotch, which was just in range of her foot. ”And I hope for the sake of our future children that you’re against it.”

”It’s not so nicely cut as all that, Allura. I can’t be so exact in my views, here! I have slaves! I’m going to _keep_ my slaves. I _like_ having slaves. I _don’t_ like what’s been done to an apparently sentient race, but Hells if I’m going to be a hypocrite and denounce it off hand!” Lotor glared back, wondering as he had so often before in the midst of their fights, why he chose to tie himself to Allura, why he promised his soul to her, even if she never heard his vow.

”But they’re wrong!”

”No, Allura, they just view things differently. Think, Godsdamn it! Use your fucking brain! You can’t go in there saying ’stop enslaving the Ki’ir-ar because it’s wrong’. You actually have to have a case, or their going to murder you! They may murder you anyway.” Lotor’s voice dropped as he said the last few words, the truth behind his anger coming through clearly. ”Gods, Allura, I’m afraid for you. I so afraid, and I’m so pissed at you that I just -- I just can’t take it anymore! You’re such a fucking idiot!”

”What, for standing up for what I believe in? For not allowing this exploitation to go on any further? For believing in the rights of all Sentient creatures?”

”No, for using all those reasons as a shield for your _real_ reasons. I know that this is all about vengeance. I know, because I know you. I know you better than I know myself and by Haran I’m afraid for you. I’m afraid that you’re going to get us all killed and then where will we be?”

”Lotor...” Allura swallowed, reached out a shaking hand, but decided against it and dropped the pale limb back to her side. ”Goddess, love, what else am I supposed to do? Yes, maybe I _am_ seeking revenge, but what about it? I’m also fighting for the life of a friend; I’m fighting for the life of an entire, fucking race here!”

”And how do you think Keith justified his actions?” Lotor’s yellow eyes pierced Allura and for a long moment the lovers just stared at each other.

It was Allura’s eyes that dropped first and she stared down at her hands in silent contemplation. She heard Lotor’s sigh, the creak of the bed as he stood, the warmth that radiated from his body as he came up to stand beside her, pale blue hands gently rubbing the chilled flesh of her arms. His voice was low as he spoke, almost contrite, but not quite. ”Allura, love, I don’t say this to hurt you, but it’s really a stupid idea. You mean more to me than anything I’ve ever known; you _are_ everything to me, though I don’t know how this whole thing happened, but you somehow became the center of my world. And may I brave the Nine Levels of Hell before I let you hurt yourself on this Gods-be-damned, stupid crusade.”

Allura laughed bitterly. ” _Mishak son’ryou._ Seems as though this is the time for oaths of love; Lance demanded I explain the Ki’ir-ar culture to him before he confronted Keith -- I told him the oath to give him _some_ defense against a’Shteru. Still, I never would have expected it to occur in a non-Ki’ir-ar; I never expected it to occur in _you;_ but I suppose that it was only natural, since I have been ensnared by it as well.”

”What?”

” _Mishak son’ryou._ ’Beyond Death, beyond Life, beyond Pain and Joy, Peace and Love, War and Hate, will I forever be by your side’ _._ It’s a powerfully binding oath, Lotor. It is one of the three greatest oaths that can be sworn, one of the Unbreakable; any who swear this oath are bound by it until the end of their days. You may never love another, now. You may never leave me, never desert me, just as I can’t do such things to you. It is almost a universal oath; even those who are not of Ki’ir-ar blood and swear this oath are forever bound by it. And, I think you may have inadvertently invoked the damn thing.”

” _Mishak son’ryou..._ ” Lotor tried the words out, rolled his tongue over them, tasted them, grimaced slightly at the ease at which his tongue formed them. ”How? How can this be? I’ve never even _heard_ of the word before! How could I have evoked it, if I never spoke it?”

Allura gave a dark smile. ”The soul doesn’t care about language, Lotor -- by the Abyss, the words are just a formality. You _know_ when you’ve sworn the oath, even if you’ve never said the words. Your very thoughts will betray you on this point.”

Lotor turned away with a growl, dropped his head into his hands, voice rough edged with his weariness. ”Gods. So, what do I do?”

Allura sighed. ”Nothing. There is nothing for you to do. There is nothing for _either_ of us to do. All we can do is...exist, together.”

Lotor nodded, turned back around, a calculating gleam coming to his eyes. ”If you loved me,” he began, soft and gentle, ”you would call off this crusade.”

Allura looked him in the eye. ”If you believed in me, you wouldn’t let me.”

~~~

Location: Arusian Consulate  
Time: 0730 STG

Lance could see his breath when he entered the darkened room, shivered at the chill that invaded his bones from the first step. _How can anyone survive in this cold?_

”Who’s there?”

”Just me.”

Lance slid the door closed and made his way to the table where Keith sat, alone and naked. He was subdued, shoulders rounded and hunched inward, everything about him filled with an aching defeat. There was a weariness that made him seem older than his years, ancient though the flesh that caged his soul was still young. The bloody line on his neck had crusted over, the small nicks on his pale, shaved head standing out starkly in the dark. Lance paused, wondered at how fast the day before had gone.

 _Was he naked yesterday? Did anyone think to give him clothing? Did anyone think to take care for his wounds? Oh Gods...Keith, I’m so sorry. I should have said something. I can’t believe I didn’t notice. Have we all become complacent with the knowledge that Keith is a Ki’ir-ar? Have we relegated him to the post of slave, made him invisible to us?_

The questions disturbed him and no answer would come. Lance hoped that the answers when they came would be ones he could accept. He prayed that they would be worthy ones rather than selfish rationale that they had been busy, too busy to notice the aches and pains of one who never asked for help, who never _wanted_ help -- and yet was the one who needed help the most. He hoped that the answers were pure; but he knew that they were not.

”What do you want, Lance?” Even his voice was subdued, defeated like the rest of him.

Lance moved around to the table, stripped his leather jacket off and tried to place it around Keith’s shoulders. His ex-lover twitched away and glared, black eyes piercing even in the gloom and cold. Lance sighed and picked up the jacket, put it down on the table. He sat down in the cold chair opposite and watched Keith, silently willing the other boy to pick up the jacket, to put it on, to hide his naked, pimpled form and get some goddamned warmth back. Keith ignored jacket and just stared back.

”What do you want?” More demanding now. Wary, perhaps.

”To talk.” Lance gave up his attempt at telepathically willing Keith to put on the jacket as a lost cause, but left it on the table. ”But first...Keith, why are you naked?”

Keith grinned, a sudden mad smile. ”Because a’Shteru won’t wear Alliance clothing and Allura has yet to find a pair of Kreiger pants for me.”

”Okay. That’s a good enough answer for me.” Lance paused, thanked Sirao for giving him the foresight to grill Allura about the Ki’ir-ar. ”Second thing, then. Aren’t you freezing? It feels like you’ve turned the AC to subzero.”

The pale flesh gleamed briefly as Keith shrugged. ”I don’t care. You forget it after awhile. Besides, the anger warms me enough.” A sharp grin, more a baring of teeth than anything else. ”It’s funny that you’re keeping me warm again.”

”Anything to help.” Lance tried to joke but failed. He frowned, suddenly confused. ”Tell me, Keith, why did you save me?”

Keith shrugged again. ”Seemed right. a’Shteru showed me how to do it, but I don’t know what he wants in return. Not yet, anyway.” Keith’s glare sharpened, suddenly. ”Why?”

”Because I thought you hated me.” Lance looked down at his hands, ashamed and wondering. ”I -- I fucked up, and I let you be taken; I saw your face when the MP’s were leading you off Keith. It looked like you had just been stabbed through the heart by your best friend.”

”I was.” Keith’s stare was hard, and Lance felt even smaller as the other boy continued to scrutinize him. ”Admittedly it was foolish to believe that you would trust me over the MP’s -- after all, you didn’t trust me when we were together, did you?”

”I’m sorry. I thought you were proposing to her.” Lance looked up, suddenly filled with an anger. ”You were down on one fucking knee, Keith. You even said her fucking name. What _was_ I supposed to think?”

”I don’t know!” For the first time since Lance had entered, Keith showed some emotion, showed some life other than the cold, impersonal man who had been responding to his questions. ”I thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d fucking trust me!”

”Why should I have? You killed your best friend, Keith. You dodged all my questions if something was wrong, you shut me out. How else was I supposed to react? Gods, Keith, I was already afraid that it -- _we_ \-- were over. Seeing you ask my cousin for her hand in marriage just confirmed my suspicions.” Lance sighed, closed his eyes. ”How was I supposed to trust you when you didn’t trust me?”

”I don’t know. Damn it, Lance, you should have told me about this! You should have confided in me! We were supposed to be a _couple._ We were supposed to be stronger together than apart! We were supposed to be in love!”

”Yeah, well, maybe we were in love. Maybe we were stronger together. But apparently that wasn’t strong enough.” Lance laughed bitterly. ”Sirao, Keith, you made me so insecure. You made me feel _small_ beside you. You made me hate you sometimes, hate you with the same intensity that I loved you. You frightened me. You scared me with the secrets that you kept. I thought you loved me! How can you love me when you won’t let me know who you are? Do you have any idea how nerve-racking that is? Do you know what it’s like to wonder if the person you love is the real person or just a front? Do you know what it’s like to know that even though you’re supposed to be in this ’grand, wonderful, eternal love’ bull shit you still aren’t trusted enough to be told the truth?” He looked down at his hands. ”We could have been something great, Keith. We could have been some sort of super team, the Uber-couple. We could have been _something;_ I never thought that we would be _nothing._ ”

”Neither did I.” For a long silent moment, Keith just stared at Lance, obviously trying to get himself under control. A strange light was glowing in his eyes, and it chilled Lance to see it. It chilled him to see Keith struggle with himself, beat down that strange light until his eyes were the same reflective black as they had always been. He sighed, and for just a second Lance felt like he was watching the other boy’s soul leaving his body in that brief puff of white. Keith’s skin had taken on a blue-ish tinge, and Lance wondered how he had been sitting here, sitting alone and naked in the dark. ”Lance...I want you to leave. Every second that you’re near me is one more second that I have to fight even harder for control.”

”Control. I should have known.” His face twisted into a bitter smile. ”It’s always about control for you, isn’t it, Keith? It’s always about perfection. And I wasn’t perfect enough, was I?”

”Kami, Lance, you couldn’t be more wrong. This isn’t about us. This isn’t about you leaving me, this isn’t about how much I hate you, how much I love you, how much I want you and miss you. This is about _him_. You are special to _me_. You are my _Tamashii_ , and _he_ wants to hurt you because of that. Because you’re an obstacle.” Keith was trembling again and Lance wondered if it was because of the cold in the room or something else. ”He wants your blood Lance. And I may not be able to stop him.”

”Him? Him who? What’re you talking about, Keith?” Lance felt the first stirrings of fear, now, behind that wall of frustration, the hurt and confusion that was being dredged up all over again. There was something wrong here. There was something panicked about Keith, the same panic of a gunshot victim, who wants to tell those around him the truth before the end comes, before he can’t tell them anything at all. It chilled him more than the room every could.

”My _Tamashii._ ’The One who brings light to my darkened soul’. My Savior! My goddamned savior. You saved me, Lance, did you know that? You pulled me out of my darkness.” Keith bit back a moan, shuddered as if he was fighting valiantly against some unstoppable force, attempting to defeat the inevitable. ”But you have to leave. You have to go away. Because if you don’t I’m going to kill you.”

”I don’t understand, Keith!” Anguish, despair, love, hate, fear, hope...it was all running together. ”Damn it, Keith, what the hell are you talking about? Tell me! Let me help you!”

”Kami, Lance, it’s not easy to explain. I don’t _expect_ you to understand. I just want you to leave before I hurt you.” The trembling grew stronger and Lance reached out across the table to touch Keith’s shoulder, almost hissing in shock as their flesh made contact. He was so cold; so cold that it almost burned, so cold that it felt like touching frozen metal, touching black ice. Keith moaned softly and shivered; he was losing the battle with himself. ”Get away! Go away!”

”By Samas’ white beard, Keith, what the hell is wrong with you? Why won’t you let me help you? Laran! I may not be your favorite person in the world, but I do still love you -- Gods I haven’t _stopped_ loving you. And as someone who loves you, let me get you a doctor. Let me help you. You _need_ help, damn it! Look at you!”

Keith shook his head, kept his eyes down on his clenched hands. ”No. Lance, go away.”

”No! I’m not leaving you like this! I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to fucking kill yourself, aren’t you. You’re freezing yourself, you’re starving yourself -- Gods, Keith, why can’t you trust me on this one?” Lance didn’t know why he was so angry, didn’t know why he spat out the words he said. ”Why can’t you just...be the weak one for once, why can’t you just accept some goddamn help!”

”I -- I can’t! Oh Gods...Lance, it’s like I’m two separate people. I’m going insane, and I can’t stop that, can’t help myself. And I’m not even me anymore. I’m someone else, and a’Shteru is in here and he’s telling me to kill everything in sight, and I can’t even trust anything anymore. I can’t trust myself, I can’t trust my memories, I have _no_ control, here and -- Lance, help me, please. _Tamashii_ , I need you, I need you so badly. Lance. Lance...”

And somehow, the anger was thrown away in the burst of blind panic that followed Keith’s words and he was around the table, and holding onto Keith even though it hurt so goddamned much because he was so cold and Keith was crying -- he was fucking crying! -- which was even more frightening than the cold, because Keith _never_ cried, _never_ and it was frightening and exhilarating all at once and suddenly, Lance was so painfully aware of Keith’s nakedness and his want, and his need and then -- pain.

Intense pain.

Pain as cold arms turned colder, hard muscles became steel, cruel talons hooked themselves into his shirt and a soft, low, mad voice whispered into his ear in a tongue that wasn’t Keith, that wasn’t anything he’d ever known.

”Ahh. Poor Lance. Always a bleeding heart.” And the arms tightened as the harsh words continued in this accented, beautiful, singing voice. ”Too bad you didn’t leave when he told you to.”

”What? Keith -- ”

”You hurt him, Lance. And, while I do not love this weaker part of myself, I must still protect him. So. You must die. Because then you will stop hurting him. And he will stop resisting. And I will be the only one.”

”No!”

The talons were grazing his skin, now, soft and caressing, little scratches that, had they not been painful, might have actually been arousing. And Lance could think of only one thing -- had _only_ one thing -- that he could do. Closing his eyes, trying desperately to remember the phrase that Allura had told him earlier when he had been preparing for this confrontation, he brought his lips close to Keith’s -- a’Shteru’s? -- ear, whispered soft and full of painful sincerity, ” _Mishak son’ryou_ ” in halting, stilted words. ”Keith, a’Shteru, whoever you are, _Mishak son’ryou._ ”

And suddenly, the caresses stopped, the talons were drawn back as if burned by something, and the hard arms released him, and Keith was sitting back, blinking with dazed eyes, as if he had just been slapped. Lance shuddered, torn between wanting to stay and comfort and the selfish will to live.

”Keith?” Hesitant, still full of that panic, but not willing to leave, to let Keith just...rot in this room. Gods, he was torn, anger roiling somewhere deep, and love and hate and fear and panic and desire and everything and nothing dancing about his soul in a confusing, horribly confusing, fashion.

”Leave, _Tamashii._ Before the reprieve is over.” Keith looked up at him, dark eyes like a black abyss that sucked at his soul, but lips twisted in a cruel mockery of a smile. ”You’ve shocked him, Lance. I would have thought it impossible.” The madness edged back around the dark wounds, and Lance took a step back, and then another until he was running, fleeing backwards and so ashamed, but oh so very glad when there was light around him, and warmth and life. Beautiful, wonderful life.

How he wished he could put some of this life back into the cold shell that was all that was left of Keith.

“Lance.”

The pilot whirled around, a silent snarl forming on his face as he spied Lotor standing with his hand on another door leading out of the large central room of the suite. ”Lotor.”

”I -- I have several things to talk to you about.” The grimace on Lotor’s face distorted the words slightly.

”About what.”

”Several things.” Lotor made the first move, striding away from the door to stand before Lance, a hand stretched out in reluctant offering. ”Would you do me the...honor of accompanying me to get some breakfast?”

”Why?” Guarded, Lance watched the hand as if it was a viper.

”Because I would,” here Lotor’s face twisted a little further, mouth souring, ”be friends with you.”

Lance stared at Lotor incredulously. ”Are you serious?” Lotor nodded, reluctantly. ”Very well. This could be interesting.”

”Good.” Lotor spun, quickly, and strode to the door. Lance followed, trying hard not to smirk at the incongruity of his situation.

~~~

Location: _Cafe Laufer_ , 1355 Roosevelt St  
Kulala City, French Quarter  
Alliance Island, New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0800 STG.

Lance fiddled with his cup, sending the dark coffee spilling over the edge in an aromatic wave of scalding liquid. It singed the skin on his fingers, but that was better than the cold he had felt with Keith. At least he knew he was alive this way.

“Tell me, Lance, what were you doing in there with Keith?”

Lotor’s voice startled Lance out of his reverie and he sharply looked up at the blue-skinned man. “Why should I tell you?”

“You shouldn’t.” Lotor leaned forward, yellow eyes intensely focused on his companion. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Fine.” Lotor leaned back, took a sip from his steaming cup. “Quite frankly I’m not very fond of you, as I’m sure you know. But, I suppose I must make peace with you -- with all of you -- if I am to marry Allura.”

Lance grinned suddenly. “You know, we could just say that we made peace and hate each other in silence.”

“Not a bad idea, boy.” Lotor smiled back, cool and composed -- but that calmness was beginning to crack even as Lance watched until, finally, it broke completely and the arrogant emperor was suddenly nothing more than a worn and weary man whose sad eyes begged forgiveness for crimes that haunted those golden depths. “I’m sorry, Lance. Honestly, I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you and your friends. I have done things that I shouldn’t have, perpetrated foul crimes and I know I can do nothing to atone for them. Hells, I’ve done things that make _my_ soul cringe in fear and weep for lost innocence.”

“So? Why tell me this? I still hate you, Lotor. I hate you more than words can express, hate you for what you and your father have done to us, to me.” Lance laughed, suddenly and softly. “I hate you more than you could possibly imagine and I would love to do nothing more than kill you right now if I could.”

“I wish you would, Lance, I wish you would.” Lotor sighed and brushed back a strand of his long, silvered hair, seeming suddenly to be older than his years, eyes kept on the lined table top. “Gods it would be easier if you did.” He looked up suddenly, a briefly anguished grin on his face. “I wouldn’t be so lost if I was dead. I wouldn’t be so helpless, so alone if I died. I wouldn’t have to worry about those who hate my planet, those who hate me, worry what intrigues will affect me, what my status is, who I should befriend and who I should watch for knife between my shoulders. Life would be easier for all if I was dead.”

“Stop that.” Lance glared at the older man. “Stop talking. Stop making me feel sorry for you. I don’t _want_ to feel sorry for you. I want to hate, but damn it, you just won’t let me. You’ve stripped everything else from me; you _can’t_ take my hatred as well.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t realize that my pain angered you so.”

“Well it does.” Lance sighed. “Why the hell are you telling _me_ this anyway? Shouldn’t you be talking to Allura about this? She’s the one who has to deal with you everyday.” A soft, bitter smirk distorted his otherwise still handsome face. “Let me give you some advice, Lotor. _Never_ keep secrets from the one you love. It only leads to pain and doubt and an end to what might have been. A breakdown in communications means death to _any_ relationship.” The smirk disappeared and Lance sighed in sudden heartfelt dejection. “I should know.”

“Now _you_ stop it.” Lotor’s voice cracked across the otherwise still morning air with the sharpness of a whip. “Stop wallowing in your self-pity. So you fucked up with Keith. So what? You’re both still alive. You’re both on talking terms. If you love each other, you can patch it up. It is possible to make it work, you know.”

“It’s not that easy, Lotor,” Lance shot back. “Gods, I _wish_ we could go back to like we were but we just have too much history; we have so much anger, I don’t think that we _can_ get together, no matter how much I wish we could.”

“Bull. Anything is possible if you love someone enough; look at Allura and I.” Lotor stared intently at his companion. “ _Do_ you love him, Lance?”

“Of course,” Lance replied, mildly affronted.

“How much do you love him? Do you love him enough to give up everything for him? Do you love him enough to die for him -- or live for him if he asked? Do you love him so much that it hurts when you’re apart, that it hurts even more when you’re together because you can’t believe your good fortune to be able to touch and kiss and caress one so perfect? Does the mere thought of him make you tremble in expectant ecstasy? Do you love him beyond the breadth of your knowledge, beyond the limits of your tongue, beyond the tiny sphere of your soul, love him so much that you can’t even begin to describe the depths of your love? Do you love him so much that -- ” Lotor broke off suddenly and laughed a slight, almost mocking laugh. “Do you love him enough that you would make peace with your enemies just because they were his friends and set aside your prejudices just because he asked it? Do you love him to the point where the only thing that can possibly hope to come near enough to _begin_ to describe what you’re feeling is a word from a race you fear and hate and enslave without a second thought?”

“ _Mishak son’ryou,_ ” Lance whispered. “I -- I don’t know, Lotor. I don’t know if that’s what I feel.”

“You would know, Lance. If that was what you felt, you would know.”

Lance sighed, closed his eyes against the sudden pain of tears. “Gods, Lotor, I’m so confused. I -- I _think_ I love him like that, think that this is what I feel. When Allura mentioned it this morning, it sounded so _right._ It sounded like us, like that was what should be used to describe what we have. But to hear you explain it so -- I don’t know anymore.” Lance sighed, shoulders shaking with both laughter and tears. “Gods, I should have asked Allura to describe that more, tell me more about it. She wasn’t even serious when she mentioned it -- it was just an off-hand comment. Something about love lost and love never found and love everlasting and how she thought that maybe it described us, but could never be since I wasn’t Ki’ir-ar and it was so rare. And, of course like the idiot I am, I went and swore it without thinking about _what_ I was swearing. Or even if my oath was true.”

“Maybe you haven’t. When Allura and I had our...disagreement, she told me it was spoken soul-to-soul, that the words are merely a statement of what is already known.” Lotor picked up his drink, took a sip of the tepid liquid, made a face at how cool it had grown and set it back down. “Tell me, Lance, what are your reasons for being in this crusade of Allura’s.”

“B-because I love Keith,” Lance stammered out.

“Are you sure? Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

Lance stared at Lotor, wishing so badly that he could hate this man, that he could despise the Doom Emperor who was forcing him to think so, forcing him to question his beliefs, question things that he had though settled and done. Lotor just stared back, apparently unaffected by his companion’s sudden inner turmoil. His golden eyes calmly regarded Lance, weighed his companion but passed no judgment -- not yet, anyway.

That was how the Alliance Page found them, two men frozen but by two different things. He cleared his throat, high, piping voice loud in the morning stillness, hesitantly approached the table and touched Lotor’s elbow. “Excuse me, your Highness, but the Council of Five desires to see you.”

“Now?”

“Yes sir.”

“Very well.” Lotor stood, tossed a couple of credit chits onto the table, the little, grey triangles clinking softly. He rested his hand briefly on Lance’s shoulder, caused the other boy to turn and look up at him. “I’m sorry, Lance. But please, consider very carefully your actions. Don’t rush into this unless you are sure; it could cost you everything.”

Lance nodded slowly, before returning to his brooding contemplation of something that wasn’t there.


	28. Interlude

_Fragment of Ki'ir-ar children's story  
author unknown_

_"Well?" said Tai Shu, bravest of all, "I have played your games and fought your battles. I have sought out the wisest of us all, the most skilled artists and craftsmen, the strongest warriors, the holiest of holies. I have sought out the very Gods themselves and yet none know you. Please, oh beautiful one, will you not tell me your name?"_

 _The pale woman smiled at these words and said, "But you do know me, dear one." And she touched his chest, right over his heart, with hands as cold as the high, thin air._

 _And Tai Shu wept as the truth overcame him._


	29. Chapter 29

Date: August 7th, 10039 A.U  
Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0750 STG

It had taken a long time to control his trembling, although somewhere along the line Keith had realized that it had been cold that made his limbs shake and not some grand emotional turmoil. Of course, once that realization had been made, the solution had been simple enough; pick up Lance’s discarded jacket and put it on. But that had just set off another wave of shaking limbs as Keith fought with a’Shteru over the wearing of Alliance clothes -- of Lance’s clothes. Even when he had won and the jacket -- still warm from Lance’s body despite the room’s cold -- embraced him in aromatic warmth of leather and Lance all rolled into one, he still wasn’t safe from the trembling. This time, though it really _was_ from emotional turmoil and Keith could feel vaguely justified in the timorous nature of his limbs.

 _Mishak son’ryou._ He had never thought that he would hear those words. Not with the history that he had, not with those strong premonitions of the end that broadsided him. After all, he would never return to Nemai, and any Ki’ir-ar he met now wouldn’t have been able to speak those words to him, even if they had _wanted_ to.

He had never hoped to hear that oath. Certainly never from Lance.

Mishak son’ryou, _Lance? No, not quite. Not quite._

Keith smiled in the darkness. Lance had no idea what he had just tried to swear, Keith was sure of it. If he had, he would never have attempted it. To swear _Mishak son’ryou_ was to give up your soul, trade it for another’s. It was to commit everything of yourself, give everything of yourself, to another person. It was to relinquish your heart and pray that no harm would come to it.

Neither of them were ready for that. Neither of them were _capable_ of it. They were both too selfish for this oath.

 _But it would have been nice. It would have been nice to feel the warmth of another’s soul. It would have been nice to experience that love that the stories were all about, to have that happy comfort that’s supposed to come with this oath. Kami knows I need some comfort now._ Keith looked down at his hands, at the cruel talons that could cause so much pain, his smile fading.

He sighed and pulled his feet up onto the chair, rested his head on the bony platform of his knees. He felt so young for some reason.

 _It’s because we_ are _young._

Keith frowned at the reminder that his thoughts were no longer his own anymore, shared instead with this unwelcome intruder of his brain. _No we’re not. We’re almost middle aged._

a’Shteru laughed, silently, mockingly. _You know better, Keith. You know that we haven’t even seen a tenth of our life. You know that we are still a Fledgling. We_ are _the child-killer, the baby with the gun, the monster fed on blood._

 _Shut up._ I’m _not a monster. I’m not like you._

 _Really? Your past says otherwise, Keith. You are just as foul as I am. Face it, no matter what culture we may be in, we are monsters. I for worshiping Anai, you for destroying without even that small comfort._ a’Shteru grew quiet and Keith was glad. His other self drew blood with every word, played on the deep insecurities that weakened the foundation of his self.

He was right, though. Keith _was_ worse than a’Shteru, for a’Shteru had had a cause to fight and kill for. All Keith had were orders from a shadowy government, a command to slaughter. a’Shteru hadn’t had a choice; Keith had. And he had chosen wrong.

 _You should have let me kill him._ a’Shteru’s voice held a tinge of petulant whine, a remnant of a childhood cut far too short. _Lance poses a threat._

 _No he doesn’t._ Keith glared into the darkness of the room. _He poses no threat to us whatsoever._

 _Yes he does. He makes you weak. He causes you pain. Therefore, he must be destroyed. That which causes pain must be eliminated so that there will no longer be pain._ a’Shteru grinned deep in the back of Keith’s mind. _You should have let me rip out his heart. Then he would have been a_ real _bleeding heart._

 _I’ll kill us before I let you harm him again._

a’Shteru snorted. _Why are you protecting him? You aren’t even lovers anymore. Even_ you _admit that you don’t have_ Mishak son’ryou. _So what tie does he still hold on you?_

 _He is a friend, a’Shteru. There are certain things you don’t do to a friend. Killing them is one of those things. You don’t kill friends. You_ especiall _y don’t kill lovers._

a’Shteru rolled his eyes. _Then why did you kill Kes?_

 _That was different. Kes_ had _to die. He wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway. It was better to get it over with quickly. A mercy kill._

 _You could say that about Lance too. In the grand scheme of things, Lance has a_ very _short lifespan. Wouldn’t it be better if we killed him now too?_

 _No. Lance_ will _live, a’Shteru. Or, at least, he won’t die by our hand._

a’Shteru lapsed into silence again and Keith breathed a sigh of relief. He ran a hand over his slick, shaved head, grimacing at the smoothness. His hair was part of what he was; part of _who_ he was.

Lance had loved his hair.

 _Well, what about Getraut?_ a’Shteru’s question startled Keith, and he felt a pang of guilt at the name that he couldn’t identify. Why should he feel guilty? The name meant nothing to him, a memory of another time, of another self, another life.

 _What about him?_

 _We killed Getraut and he was as close to a brother as we have ever had. No, he was closer. He was as close to us as our soul, trusted in everything._

 _Why did we kill him then? If he was so special, than why did we kill him? I don’t remember Getraut or his death at all._

a’Shteru smirked. _We killed him because he betrayed us, Keith. We killed him because he caused us pain, and for that he deserved to die._

 _I’m sure he did then._ Keith shrugged, dismissing the name. _Why bring him up now?_

 _Why? Because we loved him, Keith._ a’Shteru was mad. That was not a good sign. Strange how the anger of a child could hold so much power over Keith, make him so afraid. _We loved him with an emotion purer than that with which you love Lance. And we killed him, despite this better love, this greater love. Just because they are our friends, because they are our Agapiso, does not mean that they are safe from death at our hands. You should remember that Keith. You should remember Getraut. You_ will _remember Getraut._

Keith swallowed hard as the memories came flooding back, forced past the block that he had imposed to keep this past life at bay, forced onto his unwilling psyche by a’Shteru. He relived them all over again, relived all the pain once more, relived the betrayal. There were tears on his cheeks when a’Shteru was done with him and he swiped angrily at the betraying drops, disgusted with himself, hating himself.

 _He deserved to die._ Keith shook his head stubbornly, trying to regain some of his equilibrium. _He tried to kill us. He betrayed us to Bjornson, to the Alliance._

 _He was_ ordered _to kill us. It was his duty, and you know that. The Marak-lai ordered his betrayal._

 _So? He could have ignored the Marak-lai. We did._

 _He was not like us, Keith. He still had hope. He still had duty. He belonged to the Aeries, to the Ki’ir-ar in a way that we have never been able to. He could no more ignore that order than we could ignore our vow._ a’Shteru sighed. _Why do you keep me out, Keith? You miss so much this way. There are memories here that you should feel, you should experience. There are things that make up_ you _even if you don’t realize it._

 _I don’t care. I want no part of you, a’Shteru. I want no part of your vow, no part of your killing. I want no part of your bloodthirsty quest._

a’Shteru shrugged. _All right. You won’t have to participate. All you’ll have to do is relinquish your hold on this body, take my place in the corner of your mind, and_ I _will wreck my vengeance upon the Alliance. It’s that simple, Keith. You can stay pure. You can be yourself again. You won’t have to worry about me anymore, won’t have those disturbing dreams. All you have to do is step aside._

 _No. I won’t let you do that. I would rather put up with you than let you run loose._

 _A good plan. Do you want to know what I would do if you ever loosen your hold? The first thing I would do is kill Lance. Do you think his death should be slow? I think it should. I think that his flesh should be stripped from his bones in thin slices, agonizing sheets of pain. And then, maybe I’ll pluck out his eyes. Or rip out his --_

 _Stop it! Stop it!_ Sharp, white clouds streamed from Keith’s panting mouth, body shaking with disgust and fear. _I won’t let you harm him! I’ll_ kill _us first._

a’Shteru laughed, cold and mocking. _Oh poor deluded Keith. If you ever paid any attention to the rest of your life, you would know that Anai would never let that happen. We’re still too useful to her to die yet -- why do you think we’ve lived so long, anyway? Why do you think you didn’t die when you electrocuted yourself? Why do you think we survived the Redcaps, and the wars and the torture? Because Anai isn’t finished, our vow isn’t fulfilled. So, you’ll just have to listen to my plans. I have great plans, did you know that? I’m orchestrating your end. I’m leading you into insanity. Isn’t that fun? I’m having fun. Are you having fun, Keith? I get to tell you everything I would do. And I get to watch you squirm. Ooh, this_ is _enjoyable. Even as you try to fight me back, you grow weaker, ever weaker. And you try so hard. But your energy is going to run out, Keith, and you’ll weaken enough for me to take over this body completely. You won’t be able to fight me anymore. Then you’ll get to watch as I destroy your life, destroy the Alliance. It’ll be like a great big movie, won’t it?_

Keith shook his head stubbornly. _No. No way. So what if we don’t die the first time? I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep killing myself until I get it right. Do you hear me? I’m going to get it right, damn it. I’m going to stop you._

a’Shteru’s mad laughter echoed in his mind. _I’d like to see you try. You think too much like a Ki’ir-ar, Keith. You won’t commit suicide. It isn’t honorable. You are too bound by Honor, Keith. You_ can’t _kill us._

“Oh yeah? To save Lance I would.” Angry, Keith brought one of his sharp talons up to his wrist. He sliced down, hard and fast, cutting the vein neatly open to expose the raw flesh, let the blood loose onto the table. “Let’s see you kill anyone now, a’Shteru.”

 _Foolish boy. You’re only causing yourself more pain._ a’Shteru sighed, and then with a sickening wrench, Keith was suddenly pushed aside. He watched in helpless rage as a’Shteru calmly gazed at the wound, raised a hand over the bleeding gash. The pale blue light of healing engulfed them, a painful, tingling light of a thousand shocks.

Then pain. So much pain as wounds were forced to heal. It was pain compounded on pain, pain fed on pain, as flesh was grown back, cells stimulated into an early healing, blood forced out of marrow to replace the missing carriers, hair regrown to adorn a pale skull. It was pain, it was agony, it was torture as each black strand forced from an unprepared follicle was felt, each rip, each tear, through sealed skin sending a separate and distinct burst of pain as the black locks emerged stained with blood. It was the ache of flesh resealing, instantly aged so that not even a scar remained, sucking Keith’s very life force as food for its regrowth. Days, months, years were shaved from life as the essence of life was used up, never to be replenished again. Pain as the slight aches of age were thrust upon a weakened body all at once, the slow march to chaos sped up and the slow decay of years felt in a second. It was worse than the pain felt by Lance’s healing, as the agony chased itself around in a vicious circle, seeking to ease the pain even as it created more. There was no escape, only an ever growing spiral of self destruction.

And then it was done, and Keith was once more in control, but so very weak. He couldn’t move, could barely think. It hurt so much, and he felt so old. He wanted to die just to make the pain stop, but knew that if he did a’Shteru would only heal them again.

 _Do you see, Keith? You_ can’t _die. Not yet. Anai has plans for us, plans that you can’t disrupt no matter how hard you try. Do you see, Keith? Do you see?_

Keith nodded and slumped forward, broken by himself.

~~~

Location: Council of United Planets, 1535 Kissinger St.  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0930 STG.

Allura growled under her breath, each passing minute making her more and more irritable. Of course it would be the New Earth representative who would be late. And of course he would waltz into the Council Chambers with nary an apology. And of course she would have to grit her teeth and bear this unimagined slight because her position was still too weak to berate him.

So she smiled prettily at the pompous, aging bastard, paid lip service to his unspoken power, and silently thanked the Goddess for the wisdom in leaving Keith back at the consulate. Given the glowers on the four men sitting high before her, she dreaded to think what would happen if Keith had actually appeared, looking like a criminal with his shaved head and the loose warriors pants that was the traditional Kreiger garb. She didn’t think either of them could handle that.

“Case number 5567, _Ki’ir-ar V. Alliance_.” The New Earth representative looked at the case file over his neat, expensive looking half-glasses. Allura pegged him immediately as a vain man, one who probably dyed his hair and went to the gym five times a week in a futile effort to stem the march of time. “Princess Allura Arai of Arus is representing the plaintiff, William B. Swift is the solicitor general for the Alliance.” The man paused, glared down at Allura. “Tell me, Counsel, where is your client?”

“He...is not fit to appear before the court at this time. I would think that given what he has gone through that it isn’t necessary for him to be here for the preliminary hearings.” Allura smiled, dared any to challenge Keith’s right to an emotional reprieve.

“I see.” The man wrote something down on the paper before him. “Now that that’s settled, the first order of business is to appoint a fifth judge. I nominate Lotor j’Irai newly appointed Emperor of Doom as a candidate. Any objections?” The three other heads shook in almost unison, an negation made of fear for this man’s power. The old eyes turned on Allura. “Any protest, Counselor?”

“No, your Honor,” Allura replied as sullenly as she could. Inside, though she was crowing from joy. _Bless your biased hearts, you old bastards. You think that he’s going to vote against me, based on our recent conflict and his own slaves. Too bad you didn’t do your homework properly._ A niggling doubt wormed its way into her soul, a fear that maybe they _had_ read up on Lotor, knew about their fight this morning, knew about Lotor’s pro-slavery sentiments. But Allura brushed that fear aside. How could they know about this contention between them? Besides, they were bound by the Oath Unbreakable, and that had to mean _something_ , didn’t it?

“Good. Bring him in.” The door opened and Lotor walked in to take his place at the raised dais, looking slightly confused. Allura felt her anger burn hot but controlled, at the sheer arrogance of the Council of Five. Even if she had protested, Lotor would have still sat on the panel. The New Earth representative, blatantly the one in charge, waited for Lotor to sit down before he continued. “We may proceed. Counselor?”

“Thank you, your Honor.” Allura stood, composed herself. “I believe that the enslavement of the Ki’ir-ar goes against the very code of the Alliance. The enslavement of Sentient Beings in anathema to the core of the Articles of the Alliance, and the continued enslavement of the Ki’ir-ar belies everything that we believe in.”

“And how do you intend to prove this, Counselor?” The Renstat representative was the one who spoke, in his low, gravelly voice. “The Ki’ir-ar have been deemed non-Sentient since the start of the Alliance. How will you disprove ten thousand year?”

“By showing you that the Ki’ir-ar do, in fact, possess more sentience than you would give them credit for. The man I represent, Keith S. Tsumetai, is a Ki’ir-ar whom _you_ have appointed to the position of Captain.”

“Objection.” Swift stood. “Captain Tsumetai’s actions are not relevant to this case.”

“Of course they’re relevant!”

“I’m sorry, but I have to rule in the defense’s favor.” The New Earth representative leaned forward. “Captain Tsumetai was operating with Terran genes. He was granted sentience by the nature of his purloined genetics.”

“I see. So genes do sentience make?”

“Yes.”

“And who decided this?”

The New Earth representative -- Allura made a promise to herself to find out their names -- leaned back smugly. “It stands to reason, doesn’t it? It is our genetic code that separates us from the animals. Our scientists have even isolated the genome that enables sentience.”

“I see.” Allura almost growled out the words. _The bastards. The damn bastards! I_ knew _they were going to pull something like this._ “May I present a holo that I prepared, then?”

“Of course. Go right ahead. Would you like the lights out?” Allura nodded and turned away. She could feel the condescending smiles of the men behind her and it hurt her pride.

 _They think I’m just a child playing at a game._ A brief smile graced her lips. _Just wait until they see what I can really be._

The room plunged into a dusky darkness and Allura wondered how many of the old men sitting on the dais would fall asleep at this extinguishing of light. The holo-projector whirred as she turned it on, projecting the three dimensional image into the air, a blue light that waited to be filled. Allura clicked the buttons Pidge had shown her, sent the first image into the empty space. The CGI chromosome strand gently rotated, waiting patiently to fulfill its purpose.

“This,” Allura began in her most commanding voice, “is a human chromosome.” She clicked another button and the view zoomed in to center itself around one small area. A specific strand of DNA was highlighted. “And this is the Sentience gene.” Another click. “This is a Ki’ir-ar chromosome.” And again. “And here’s the sentience gene. Now I know that you’re going to protest that this is all hearsay, but just watch.” Another click, and this time the machine made a different noise, a higher pitched whirring sound. “Now, you’re going to have to wait a few seconds for the result, but this machine is comparing the code for the two DNA strands. The positive matches will be displayed in yellow.”

The machine whirred in soft calculations, before a tiny ‘bing’ announced that the task was finished. The two genetic strands shot into the air, twirled in the empty space, both a brilliant yellow. An uncomfortable silence descended as the representatives regarded the gently rotating strands. Finally, the Nemaian representative spoke, gravely voice low and harsh.

“That proves nothing.” He shifted his bulky form, leaned forward with a dark glower. “Just because, through random chance, they have a gene similar to ours doesn’t mean that they’re Sentient. Besides, that sample was probably tampered with.”

“Well perhaps it was. However, I have the capabilities for performing a similar test if I’m provided a blood sample from a humanoid sentient and a Ki’ir-ar. The only thing I ask is that it be a pure sample; no drugs or genetic alterations, if you please. Well? Who will donate?” The five men looked down at the table, or at the walls or flags of the planets in the Alliance; anywhere but Allura. “No? Then I suggest that you take my word that this test was in no way tampered with.”

“So what? What does this prove?”

“That the Ki’ir-ar posses the capacity for Sentience. And that’s all that matters. Don’t you agree?” The five men nodded grudgingly, Lotor shooting her a brief, proud smile as he did. Allura tried hard not to smile back, to expose this hidden weapon that she possessed.

“So now we must determine what, exactly, _is_ sentience. Having done my homework, I’ve come prepared to answer that question.” Allura drew a sheet from the folder on her table. “Going to the premier dictionary, _The Oxford Dictionary_ , I found ‘sentient’ defined as follows: ‘ _1\. That feels or is capable of feeling; having the power or function of sensation or of perception of the senses. b. Conscious or percipient_ of _something. 2._ Phys. _Of organs or tissues: Responsive to sensory stimuli. 3. Characterized by the exercise of the senses. B. a._ absol. _That which has sensation or feeling. b._ sb _. One who or something which has sensation.’_

 _“_ I also found ‘sentience’ defined as _‘The condition or quality of being sentient, consciousness, susceptibility to sensation._ ’” Allura smiled winsomely at the men and lowered the sheet. “Since I, unfortunately, wasn’t able to fully complete my education, I’m afraid that these definitions don’t fully explain _what_ ‘sentience’ is, exactly. I’m still very shaky on the proper definition. Do you think that you learned gentlemen could help me out?”

“It’s simple, really.” The Harmoni hissed out the words, forked tongue flickering along his thin, scaly mouth. “To be a Sentient is to be able to make rational thoughts and to articulate these thoughts in a fashion that can be understood by others. _Cogito Ergo Sum_ and all that. Or, if you prefer the existentialist's view, ‘I say NO, therefore I exist’. If you can formulate these thoughts, question your existence, you are sentient.”

“But that’s not all. What my learned colleague,” the dEkk-mnzvar representative bowed his head in deference to the Harmoni, “forgets is that a Sentient being posses a culture that can be understood by other Sentient beings as well. They have a language, some sort of art, a social structure -- family, leaders, economy, tools and so forth -- and social laws that must be obeyed.”

“They are also capable of feeling such higher emotions as Love.” Lotor’s voice was soft compared to the deep, pompous booming of the other four. “They must have values and virtues; ideals such as Honor, Courage, Good and Evil. A Sentient race is a race that can curtail and control the more bestial aspect of the soul -- or rather, meld those darker parts with the higher aspects of life, with Reason and Logic and Thought.”

“Hah! Yes! That’s very good.” The New Earth representative laughed in gleeful appreciation, paunch jiggling with each chortle. “Yes, very good indeed. A Sentient race possess _all_ of these things.”

“All right.” Allura looked down at her notes and then back up at the Council. “So, in order to be Sentient, you must be able to think logically, posses ‘higher emotions’ such as Love and Courage and Honor or the equivalent thereof, be able to either control the bestial aspect of the soul, or have the higher cognitive powers work in conjunction with this animal side, as well as posses a culture -- as well as the dictionary definition?”

“Yes.” The dEkk-mnzvar nodded emphatically. “But the most important thing is to be able to think rationally.”

Allura gave a low whistle. “Well. That certainly is a tall order to fill.”

The New Earth representative gave her a malicious smile. “Is it too big for you? Would you like to withdraw your plea?”

“No. I am prepared to defend my client.”

“But I’m not.” Swift suddenly spoke and Allura started, having forgotten the other lawyer. “I would like a month to prepare a proper defense.”

“All right. Shall we reconvene on the first of September, then?” The New Earth representative looked up and down at the other council members, before turning to Allura. “Is that agreeable, Counsel?”

“Yes. One month will be just fine.”

“Good. The Council is adjourned.” The New Earth representative stood and left the chamber, followed quickly by the other four black robed men. Allura watched them go, trying to keep her hatred down. The first stone was cast. There was no turning back now.


	30. Interlude

_Excerpt from Republic  
By Plato_

_Do you think that, when it comes to guarding, there is any difference between the nature of a pedigree young dog and that of a well-born youth?_

 _What do you mean?_

 _Well, each needs keen senses, speed to catch what it sees, and strength in case it has to fight it out with what it captures._

 _They both need all these things._

 _And each must be courageous if indeed he’s to fight well._

 _Of course._

 _And will a horse, a dog, or any other animal be courageous, if he isn’t spirited? Or haven’t you noticed just how invincible and unbeatable spirit is, so that its presence makes the whole soul fearless and unconquerable?_

 _I have noticed that._

 _The physical qualities of the guardians are clear, then._

 _Yes._

 _And as far as their souls are concerned, they must be spirited._

 _That too._

 _But if they have natures like that, Glaucon, won’t they be savage to each other and to the rest of the citizens?_

 _By god, it will be hard for them to be anything else._

 _Yet surely they must be gentle to their own people and harsh to their enemy. If they aren’t they won’t wait around for others to destroy the city but will do it themselves first._

 _That’s true._

 _What are we to do, then? Where are we to find a character that is both gentle and high-spirited at the same time? After all, a gentle natures it he opposite of a spirited one._

 _Apparently._

 _If someone lacks either gentleness or spirit, he can’t be a good guardian. Yet is seems impossible to combine them. It follows that a good guardian cannot exist...[yet] We overlooked the fact that there are natures of the sort we thought impossible, natures in which these opposites are indeed combined._

 _Where?_

 _You can see them in other animals, too, but especially in the one to which we compared the guardian, for you know, of course, that a pedigree dog naturally has a character of this sort -- he is gentle as can be to those he’s used to and knows, but the opposite to those he doesn’t know._

 _I do know that._

 _So the combination we want is possible after all, and our search for the good guardian is not contrary to nature._

 _Apparently not._

 _Then do you think that our future guardian, besides being spirited, must also be by nature philosophical?_

 _How do you mean? I don’t understand._

 _It’s something else you see in dogs, and it makes you wonder at the animal._

 _What?_

 _When a dog sees someone it doesn't know, it gets angry before anything bad happens to it. But when it knows someone, it welcomes him, even if it has never received anything good from him. Haven’t you ever wondered at that?_

 _I’ve never paid any attention to it, but obviously that is the way a dog behaves._

 _Surely this is a refined quality in its nature and one that is truly philosophical._

 _In what way philosophical?_

 _Because it judges anything it sees to be either a friend or an enemy, on no other basis than that it knows the one and doesn’t know the other. And how could it be anything besides the lover of learning, if it defines what is its own and what is alien to it in terms of knowledge and ignorance?_

 _It couldn’t._

 _But surely the love of learning is the same thing as philosophy or the love of wisdom?_

 _It is._

 _Then, may we confidently assume in the case of a human being, too, that if he is to be gentle toward his own and those he knows, he must be a lover of learning and wisdom?_

 _We may._

 _Philosophy, spirit, speed, and strength must all, then, be combined in the nature of anyone who is to be a fine and good guardian of our city..._


	31. Chapter 31

Date: August 7th, 10039 A.U  
Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1000 STG

Keith sat down on the couch somewhere between the third exploding mech and the hero’s homicidal rampage, so quiet and unobtrusive that Pidge hadn’t noticed the other boy until he made a small noise -- perhaps a derisive snort as to the actions of the gun-totting hero -- and the curly haired genius whipped his head about quickly enough to give himself whiplash. Keith smiled, slow and weary, a strange aura of defeat about him. He looked so small in Lance’s jacket and those loose brown pants Allura had given him, curled up in the corner of the couch, mind a thousand miles away. Pidge looked at him, _really_ looked at for the first time since he had been taken away, and suddenly he realized that the man sitting there wasn’t Keith. Something had been taken from him, something had changed him and that change hadn’t been wrought solely by a’Shteru. It took more than that to explain the extent of the changes, to explain the dark bruises under Keith’s eyes and the way his skin stretched so tautly over his bones. There was more to his madness than just a’Shteru, more to his weary air than this straining battle for his own mind.

“Hey.”

Even his voice sounded bone tired, and Pidge wondered where his hero had gone. Where his friend had gone.

“Hey. You’re -- Keith, why do you have hair? I thought -- ” Pidge blinked rapidly, unsure if the black locks had always been there or had just appeared. A short silence and one headache later, he sighed and shrugged slightly in defeat. “Okay. I’m confused.”

“It’s okay. I, well, ‘healed’ myself.” Keith laughed quietly at something. “Yes, I suppose that explains it adequately enough. Suffice to say, my hair is back.”

“Right. I can see that.” Pidge looked briefly at the screen, suddenly uncomfortable and cursing himself for forgetting to carry his gun -- and then at even _thinking_ that he needed the gun around Keith in the first place. He watched Keith’s sad reflection in the screen for a moment, wondering at this sudden...normalcy in his friend. True, Keith looked tired, but the light of madness was lacking in his eyes, and there was no distant strain tensing his face. Keith’s eyes stared back at him from the reflected screen, and Pidge sucked on his bottom lip as he tried to formulate a means of addressing the sudden shift in Keith’s personality. Finally deciding that neither of them would appreciate any subtle maneuvering of words, Pidge decided that his best course of action would be to just spit the words out.

“So.” The word just sort of escaped, turning into a vaguely questioning hiss toward the end of its utterance. Keith’s reflection smiled slightly.

“So.”

“What, uh, where’s your ‘guest’?” Pidge’s lips twitched in a sort of apology as he tapped his head.

“a’Shteru?” Keith shrugged as Pidge nodded. “I don’t know, really. Why?”

“Oh, I, uh, heard you screaming something about killing yourself earlier and just, y’know, wondered. Yeah.” Pidge edged away from Keith slightly, just on the basic principle of the matter.

Keith shrugged again, that same defeated smile on his face. “Who knows? He broke me and then left. It’s understandable, really, given what type of fighter he was. Y’know, guerrilla warfare and all. Quick, debilitating strikes to throw the enemy into a state of confusion, and then you back off and let their own paranoia do the rest of the work for you; no one can be strong when they’re looking over their shoulder every five minutes and sleeping so lightly that the slightest breeze stirs them to watchful awareness. Besides, it breaks the spirit faster if hope is beaten down methodically. Continuous defeats are more painful and psychologically damaging than a single defeat, for one, two, three defeats can all be chocked up to flukes. But fifteen, twenty -- there can be no excuse for that many failures.”

Pidge blinked. “Okay. I guess. So, what, he’s just gone and left you all alone in your head?”

“Yes, basically. It -- well, it is a little complicated, but basically that’s all it boils down to. I don’t know where he is, I don’t know how long I have, and frankly I don’t care. All that I know is that I’m going to make the most of it.” Keith reached into his jacket, his eyes regaining some of that same mad glint as before, and Pidge stiffened in fear; his fear only increased when Keith’s hand emerged with a gun. The older pilot smiled slightly, bitterly, at his friend’s reaction. “Don’t worry, Pidge. I’m not going to kill you.”

“Y-you’re not? Than what, uh, what’s the gun for?”

“Well,” Keith turned the weapon over before extending it handle first toward Pidge. “You, are going to use it to kill me. After you restrain me, of course.”

“What!”

“It’s really the only way here, Pidge. I can’t kill myself, a’Shteru will see to that. But you,” Keith laughed suddenly, “you my friend -- my dear, dear friend -- can kill me. Now we’re going to have to hurry, so you take the gun and I’m going to find some handcuffs.” Keith thrust the gun at Pidge impatiently. “If you could, though, do you think that you that you could make it quick? If you don’t kill me with the first shot, a’Shteru can still heal me.”

Pidge shook his head. “No.”

“What?”

“No. No way, Keith. I am _not_ going to kill you!”

“But you have to, Pidge. It’s the only way.”

Keith sounded so sincere, and that, perhaps, was the most frightening thing. Never -- _never_ \-- in the nine years that Pidge had known him had Keith contemplated suicide. Even when they were at their lowest point and there truly was no hope for them, Keith never gave up, never sounded, acted, looked as defeated as he did now. When _Keith_ gave up, than there truly was nothing to be done. Maybe it would be better to kill Keith now, end the troubles of the displaced pilot rather than let it be drawn out and prolonged in cruel torture.

But to give up now would to be acknowledge that the Alliance was right, to admit that there was no help for Keith, no help for the Ki’ir-ar. To kill Keith would be to condemn the Ki’ir-ar to slavery forever.

“Keith, I can’t -- ”

“Damn it, Pidge, I know that you can. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Kill me and it all ends now. Everything ends now. Don’t you realize just how hopeless this crusade of Allura’s is? Don’t you realize that nothing I say -- nothing _anyone_ says -- is going to make the Alliance stop the slavery of the Ki’ir-ar?” Keith slammed his hand against the arm of the couch, sharp teeth gleaming and pulled back in a feral growl. Anger had given him a new strength, a new vitality. He glowed, bright and alive as he once had been; but it was the glow of a flame flaring before it died. “This is the only logical course of action. Better to be rid of me, the source of all this trouble, than to go through with this stupid trial and potentially throw the entire Alliance into turmoil.”

“But -- ”

“No buts. Now take the fucking gun and kill me!”

“No.” Pidge shook his head and turned away, praying that there was enough of Keith left in this twisted shell to protect him. Surely almost a decade of friendship couldn’t be thrown away so very quickly.

He didn’t know how wrong he was until Keith’s claws dug into his shoulder and he was spun around to stare into those feral eyes. Pidge swallowed and went limp, breath coming in short and desperate, mind spinning down a thousand different paths, a thousand different types of pains but only one, final death.

“Now listen here, Pidge.” His breath hit Pidge’s face in a hot, wet wave, dark and damp, words more a rumbling than any true sound. “I don’t want to hurt you, really I don’t. But if you don’t kill me than I’m going to. And maybe if I hurt you enough you’ll kill me in self-defense. But you’re going to kill me, and you’re going to kill me now before -- ” Keith stopped suddenly, eyes going distant, a low whimper rising from his throat. He let go of Pidge, and stumbled away, clutching his head so tight that he bled, body trembling as some internal battle was fought. Pidge swallowed hard and edged away, seeking blindly for the gun. He breathed a little easier -- not much, but a little -- when the familiar weight was in his hand.

Keith collapsed to his knees, breath labored, eyes staring but not seeing. Pidge trained the gun sights at the other boy’s head, arm shaking and dancing in a nervous jig. Long moments passed, the room not silent but filled with the noise of the still playing vid-screen, explosions and cheesy dialogue drowning out the harsh pants that rasped from Keith’s mouth, dampening even Pidge’s own shuddering breaths. Long moments of aching tension, of trembling, thrilling adrenaline that spiked the blood and caused the heart to pound in a new beat, a beat of fear and death and shock so great that there was nothing else in the world but the sight of that dread danger and the swift, thrumming, hammering heart. Long moments passed in this tense, anxious way and when they were finally broken by Keith rising to his feet, Pidge wished for them to come back again.

To see Keith bowed but fighting that which sought to beat him was by far better than to see Keith stand in utter defeat.

The gun fell to the thick carpet with a muffled thud, dropped from a hand suddenly too tired to hold it anymore. Pidge followed quickly, collapsing in a graceful fold until he sat cross legged on the soft material, hazel eyes deep with sad understanding even as his face molded itself in shock. Keith’s body shook in a shuddering sigh as he shuffled his way to Pidge’s side, unconsciously wiping his hands on his pants and leaving rusty streaks on the soft cloth. Brighter blood, a brilliant crimson as it hit the air, trickled down from the small cuts hidden by his hair. They stained the collar of Lance’s jacket a darker brown, sticky spots of near-black. The older boy crouched, one hand gently touching Pidge’s shoulder, not surprised when the small boy twitched away.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered, voice tinged with sad understanding. Pidge made no reply and Keith gently moved away, leaden legs carrying him back to the couch where he curled up once more, eyes closed and face lined as the wearying battle for sanity began again. Pidge slowly followed, but when he sat he would not look at the man who once had been his friend.

~~~

Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Time: 1200 STG

Pidge’s eyes were beginning to hurt from surreptitiously staring at Keith for so long. It was two hours and counting now, and the only movement that could be _remotely_ considered threatening was when Keith scratched his head. And while Pidge was indeed grateful that there wasn’t going to be another psychotic episode like this morning, Keith's inertia was making him irrationally angry. But perhaps not so irrationally, as there was much to be angry about; the attack, the defeat, the destruction of a hero...

Pidge frowned, rubbing his fingers nervously. He felt like an abuse victim, telling himself that it hadn’t happen -- that it wouldn’t happen again. But it did, and it might, and it was horrible to see Keith sitting there, so calm, so collected; it was like the attack hadn’t even happened! How could he act like it had never happened?

God, but it was all so confusing. On one hand, it was Keith. _Keith!_ Keith, who had _never_ been anything but a friend, who had never done anything to hurt him, to threaten him in anyone. Keith, who was tied closer to his heart than even his brother, whose ties were stronger than that of blood.

Keith, who had just attacked him.

He was beginning to hate the silent boy, beginning to loathe him for this betrayal. It was tearing Pidge in two, the harsh reality of this morning too discordant with his memories of the old Keith; the sane Keith; the Keith who had been his friend. But how could he be the same Keith? How could he be the Keith that had fought by his side?

But every time he tried to separate them, every time he managed to pretend that it hadn’t been Keith, that whatever it was that had changed Keith was the one responsible for the attack, he looked over and...every illusion was destroyed. His silent calm was too much like the old Keith, the Keith that had existed before the insanity, existed back on idyllic Arus. And it struck a wrong chord in Pidge, to know that there could be something so dangerous and so deadly existing in the same mind as his friend.

A strand of hair fell into his face and Pidge blew it out of the way, glowering at his silent companion. _How can he sit there, so calm, so...normal. He...God, it’s like he hasn’t changed. It’s like...Christ, this is just way to surreal. He’s Keith again. But he’s not. He’s something else. He’s something different. He’s someone I don’t even know anymore._

 _But...but he’s still_ Keith. _Somewhere in there is Keith. Behind the psychopathic veneer anyway._

 _So where does that leave me? I want nothing to do with the psychopath, but Keith is my friend, and I_ can’t _abandon him. But can I help defend that...thing that’s living in Keith? More, can I defend_ Keith? _Can I help someone who tried to kill me?_

 _Help Keith, and a’Shteru is helped as well._

 _Don’t help Keith, and a’Shteru is thwarted. But Keith dies._

 _...Maybe it_ would _be easier just to let Keith die. A convenient solution to a messy problem, at the very least._

 _But if I was going to let Keith die, than I would have pulled the trigger. The problem hasn’t changed even though Keith has. If Keith dies, disappears, then the Ki’ir-ar are screwed. They need him there, need him to testify, to make the Alliance actually look at what’s going on, what evils they’re promoting._

 _Besides, I swore I would help him. No matter what happens, I should honor that vow. And Keith is still my friend, and I should help my friend._

 _...He is my friend. Nothing can change that. Nothing can make me forget what he has done for me, how many times he has helped me, treated me as an equal even though he didn’t have to. He was there when I needed him._

 _And now he needs me._

“ -- won’t Allura-thegn.” The lilting, musical voice preceded the speakers by a dozen paces, alerting the room’s inhabitants long before the door slid open and allowed the pair entrance. Two pair of eyes watched them enter in silence, listened to the lilting voice of the winged man who argued with Allura.

“But Joran -- ” Allura faltered slightly as she entered, choking on her words as the silent tension that filled the room hit her. Her companion ignored the beginnings of her protest and continued on with his rant.

“I’m sorry, but if we testify on your friend’s behalf, then any of my people who aren’t on Arus will be enslaved.” The winged man shook his head, golden hair neatly bound in a ponytail, piercing blue eyes dark beneath an angry brow. “I will not sacrifice our tentative freedom for one man.”

“But he _is_ one of your people!” Jaran’s face darkened and Allura sighed and rubbed her forehead, trying to smooth the lines stress and worry had etched into her skin. “Fine. Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Pidge raised a curious eyebrow, inclined his head at the still angry man with the ruffled, dusky wings and cleared his throat. “Who’s your guest, Allura?”

“This is Joran al’Toma. He’s an Arusian Ki’ir-ar.”

“Allura-thegn, please!” The man swung about, shock and dismay etched on his face. “Do not call me that!”

“Oh right. Sorry.” Allura grimaced slightly. “He’s a Breshav’i.”

“Ah.” Pidge eyed Joran’s wings for a moment than turned back to Allura. “What’s the difference?”

“The Breshav’i are considered Sentient. Beyond that, there is none.” Joran glared at Allura and the princess sighed again and amended her statement. “Well, the wings of the Breshav’i have blue bands and a sort of peachy under color. The Alliance says that they are less violent and more intelligent than the Ki’ir-ar, but that’s a crock of shit and everybody knows it. Still, it was the only way to get those Ki’ir-ar on Arus to be considered Sentient by the entire Alliance.”

“Allura-thegn, those few marks are all that keep my people from being snatched off the streets and sold into slavery.” Joran surveyed the room, eyes lighting on Keith’s silent form. “I assume that the young man over there is the one you wish for me to heal?”

“Yes.”

The winged man nodded and strode over to the quiet boy. He regarded Keith carefully for a moment before extending his hands until they rested on Keith’s unresponsive head. The young boy glanced up briefly, black eyes blank and empty of everything but the vaguest curiosity. Joran tensed slightly, wings ruffling with his unease, but continued on, closing his eyes and summoning up the blue light of healing. His hands glowed, twin moons in the silent room, then the light transferred itself to Keith, played about his head for but an eternal second. And when that briefly long moment passed, Joran pulled his hands back with a strangled shout, staring down at the smoking blackened skin in shock, then looked up again, sharp face open in surprise. Keith calmly smiled at him, lips twisting in sardonic mocking. Joran snarled and turned to face Allura, eyes ablaze.

“I cannot heal him. His defenses are far too strong. Look at what they did to me!” The blackened hands came up to emphasize his point, piercing eyes already tearing up in anguish.

“Sorry, Joran,” Allura apologized, not sounding sorry at all, “but I had to try. There’s _nothing_ you can do?”

“Allura-thegn, this man is not a man. His mind is fractured, split into two. Had you brought me in when the duality first started, there might have been some hope of reconnecting these disparate parts. As it is now, they drift farther and farther apart, grow more distinct and fight harder against each other. If this war continues, one will eventually be destroyed, and your young friend will be completely insane, for there will only be a part of what there should be.” Joran shook his head sadly. “There is nothing to be done.”

“Great.” Allura frowned and glanced over at the still smiling Keith. “So, tell me Keith, what happens if a’Shteru wins?”

“Oh, I would expect that there will be quite the blood bath. His plan, from what he tells me at least, is to destroy all who have caused injury to him. Of course, his list of those who have hurt him is basically the entire Alliance.” Keith cast a hooded glance at Joran. “You should probably talk to your _Akush’ai_ after you have that healed. Who knows what taint I may have put upon your soul.”

“Why does he speak so, Allura-thegn?” The _Zhiyu_ wouldn’t look at Keith. “What does he mean?”

Keith laughed, a silent shaking of his shoulders. A quick wave of his hand cut Allura off, and he slowly stood, stalking forward until he was face to face with Joran, smiling cruelly at the other’s pale features. “You are right to be afraid, banded-one, for I am the _Keith’an-skai._ I am Vengeance in Her purest form. I am tainted, fouled, poisoned beyond hope and healing. I am a disease, for I spread my taint to those around me, darken their souls and twist the goodness within their lives. You _should_ be afraid, _Zhiyu,_ for you have seen into my mind.”

Joran paled further, breath growing labored as he backed away, face a mask of pure terror. “Monster.” The word was hissed out, a feeble defense against his fear. He turned quickly, eyes accusing daggers. “Allura-thegn, why have you brought this foul thing here? Why do you not destroy it?”

“He is my friend, Joran, and perhaps the only hope the enslaved Ki’ir-ar have.”

Joran shook his head. “You are wrong, Allura-thegn. The _Keith’an-skai_ has no friends; only enemies. And if he is the only hope that our enslaved brethren have, I pity them. For the _Keith’an-skai_ is the killer of hope.” He backed away, almost running for the door. “You have done a great wrong, Allura-thegn, in allowing something like him to live. Know that I shall tell all the Breshav’i in the Alliance of this; and order them to kill the monster on sight.”

The door closed with a soft _shick,_ a gentle scrape of metal against metal and a soft breath of air; a disappointing end to a disappointing meeting. Keith stared at the door, still smiling though he now began to sway. Just as he began to topple, Allura rushed forward, catching him, bracing him, carrying him back to the couch. She glared at Pidge, but the younger boy just shrugged and backed away, taking a seat in an armchair that almost swallowed his small frame. His eyes were shadowed in thought, closed off from his companions, though they were the ones who sparked this foray into his mind.

“Are you sure you should be touching me, Allura? I might taint your soul too.” Keith smiled wanly, winced slightly and put a hand up to his head. “I don’t think I should have done that.”

“Done what?” Allura asked softly.

“That...” Keith gestured vaguely, “little display. I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that. I _definitely_ shouldn’t have allowed a’Shteru to share some of his memories of life as a Ki’ir-ar. Kami knows it’s going to be harder to resist him now.” Keith sighed and chuckled softly. “Still, it was rather fun to see that pompous ass so afraid.”

Allura smiled as well. “Yes, it was. About time Joran got a good scare too. He’s grown far too...inflated with himself of late. Not at all like I remembered him. I’m sorry I brought him here, but I had to try to make you whole, Keith. You understand that, right?”

Keith nodded, then winced again. “I understand. So, what’s the new battle plan? I hear that you’re making quite a fuss about me.”

“You could say that.” Allura closed her eyes for a moment, organized her thoughts. “Well, the basic attack plan is to try and prove that the Ki’ir-ar are genetically Sentient. Now this _shouldn’t_ be hard, since Pidge’s genetic tests show that the Ki’ir-ar do, in fact, posses the ‘Sentient gene’. Of course we had to use the blood of one of the Arusian Ki’ir-ar, but we don’t need to tell them that just yet. Besides, we can run some more tests using ‘real’ Ki’ir-ar blood; I’m sure that we can get some from one of the Training Facilities. Right Pidge?”

“What?” Pidge looked up, blinked then nodded vaguely. “Yeah. Sure.”

Allura rolled her eyes. “Pay attention, Pidge.”

The young boy shrugged. “Sorry, Allura, my mind was on something else.” He surreptitiously glanced at Keith, unnoticed by Allura before turning his attention to the topic at hand.

“Anyway, using genetics seems to be the best course of action at the moment, but I’m still a little wary because those idiots on the Council aren’t the most open minded people. So, what I think we need to do is to make it clear that there is no real difference between the ability of the Ki’ir-ar to think rationally and that of the rest of the Alliance. Which is where you come in Keith. I need you to talk to a court reporter about the Ki’ir-ar culture, show them that there actually _is_ a Ki’ir-ar culture. That’s going to be the groundwork for your testimony. Beyond that, we’re just going to have to compare your actions -- and more importantly, the _reasons_ behind those actions -- as a ‘Sentient’ and your actions before your, uh, transformation. Do you understand that?”

“I think so.” Keith sighed. “Do we have a chance?”

“Honestly? I think we do. I think that once we get you up on the stand and just hit them with the reality of the Ki’ir-ar’s situation, they’ll rule in our favor with very little hesitation.” Allura laughed, suddenly. “Well, they would if this was the perfect little world.”

“Allura, if that was the case, than all we would have to do would be to take the Council down to _any_ of the Training Facilities, get them to see what the Alliance does to the Ki’ir-ar they capture.” Pidge snorted. “The Ki’ir-ar are treated worse than animals. At least animals have _some_ rights.”

“Wait, I don’t think I understand completely.” Keith’s brow furrowed, lines of concentration etching his face. “How are we going to establish my Sentience completely when all you have are witnesses from my years during and after the Academy? The team I worked with for my first five years as a Terran are all dead; I know, I saw their bodies. I would think that that period would be an integral part of our case, since I had just...changed over during those years. I did some pretty vicious things back then, and since it’s my word against Alliance, they’re going to use my actions as an example of how hard it is for a Ki’ir-ar to become accustomed to thinking rationally.”

Allura frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that...” She paused, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think that it’ll be as disastrous as you think. There’ll be records, debriefings that we can pull up and use to support your reasons for your actions.”

“Still, all we can do is establish my character as it is _now_. That has no bearing on how I acted before I was captured. Anyway, my actions under the direction of the Alliance can’t possibly help, since I had _no_ memory of my life before; I would have been operating completely as a Terran, what with the programming and all.”

“Yes, but they’re not going to dispute that a Terran is a Sentient. Therefore, if we can prove that you act the same no matter what your genetic code is, we can prove that the Ki’ir-ar are Sentient because your reasons for your actions would be the same whether you were a Ki’ir-ar or a Terran. As it is, you have _no_ Terran genes in you right now, right?” Keith nodded. “Perfect. Since you are, in essence, a full Ki’ir-ar, the very fact that you can argue when you testify will be proof of your ability to think rationally.”

Keith shrugged. “It sounds nice, Allura, but it’s not going to happen. How can that possibly hold up in court? How can you prove that something thinks rationally?” He laughed, mocking and hard. “Trying to prove that the Ki’ir-ar are sentient to one who isn’t on our side is going to be like comparing a man to a dog. You know, inherently, that they are different, that the man is superior because he has a superior brain, he thinks with greater power than the dog. But you can’t prove it, not concretely. Who knows what the dog is thinking; their minds are a mystery to us. They could be capable of creating something as beautiful as Shakespeare, but we’ll never know that, because we can’t understand them. And that’s just how the Alliance views the Ki’ir-ar: as dogs.” Keith paused. “No. The Ki’ir-ar are less than dogs. Dogs have protection. Dogs have laws written in their favor. The Ki’ir-ar have nothing.”

“Then we’ll _make_ them understand. Goddess, Keith, I thought you wanted to help the Ki’ir-ar. I thought that their slavery was the whole reason that you staged your rebellion.”

Keith shook his head. “No, Allura, all I’ve ever wanted -- all I desire now -- is revenge. You should get the whole story before you assume anything.”

The two locked eyes, stubborn souls straining for dominance, but it was Allura who broke first, looking away, shuddering slightly at something she had seen deep within Keith’s eyes. “You’re right. I should have asked if you would join me in this fight to free the Ki’ir-ar slaves. Will you, Keith?”

Keith nodded slowly, a slow, almost secretive smile on his face. “Yes, Allura, I’ll help you.” He winced and clutched at his head. “Kami but I have a headache.”

“That’s probably not a good sign. Come with me. I think I have something for the pain.” Allura stood, pulled Keith up with her, but stopped before she did anything more, smiling softly. “Thank you, Keith.” Keith shrugged and Allura ushered him towards the far door. The sheet of metal slid closed, leaving Pidge alone. He stared for a moment, wondering if he should get up and join them, forgive and forget Keith’s attack so easily.

He was saved from that decision when the door leading to the hallway opened and Lance entered. At first, Pidge was relived, for he by far preferred to deal with Lance than with Keith at anytime; even when the latter wasn’t suffering from psychotic episodes and suicidal urges. Lance was more...open, his mobile face readable, a map to his emotions. It was easier to slip back into his old role as the little friend, the child thrust into a man’s world, fragile and vulnerable. It was easier to let the familiar persona of youth slip over his deeper, darker self. And perhaps if he did so, he would be able to forget -- if only for a little while -- his conflict over Keith.

Still, when Pidge saw how agitated and nervous his older friend was, he almost wished that he _had_ gone with Allura and Keith. He just wasn’t any good with overly emotional people, and if the face twisted in anguish and the nervous, jerky movement were any indication, Lance was feeling very emotional indeed.

Lance kicked a chair. A second passed before he grabbed his foot and began to hop about, cursing. Pidge winced as Lance fell into a standing lamp, sending the it -- and himself -- crashing to the floor.

Yes, Lance was feeling _very_ emotional indeed.

Sighing quietly and promising himself several hours of disassembling his computer as compensation for having to do this, Pidge turned to the nervously twitching Lance. He smiled gently, and, putting on his most innocent face -- though remembering what that face looked like was getting harder and harder these days -- he gestured for Lance to sit down beside him. The older boy resisted for a moment before succumbing to the false youth and resting on the sofa. Pidge waited for his friend to get settled in before beginning.

“What’s wrong, Lance?”

“Nothing.”

 _Sure. And my name really_ is _Pidge._

Lance glanced over at the smaller boy, sensing the other’s doubt, his brow furrowing slightly as he stressed his words. “Really, it’s nothing.”

“Okay.” And Pidge was going to drop the subject there. He was, really. But then the guilt hit, the overpowering guilt that left a sour taste in his mouth and hit so suddenly that he was left dumb by it. The guilt filled him with a sense of panic so deep that all he could think about was that if he let Lance go now, he was betraying his hero -- and betraying Lance. And, even though he knew that it was the shock that was finally hitting, the shock that Keith, _Keith,_ had been the one who attacked him in the safest place in the world, even though he knew that in five minutes he would be filled with hate for Keith, he still had to do it. He still had to help his friend because the idea that he would let Keith fight this battle without the one person who might possibly be able to bring him back from the madness into which he had descended was so incomprehensible that Pidge’s mind couldn’t even begin to wrap around it.

And that was why he said it. That was why he kept going, why he resigned himself to hurting Lance, reopening old wounds and sacrificing him to a madman that he used to love. Pidge was sorry, he was, but it was the only chance they had of getting Keith back.

“Are you going to testify on Keith’s behalf.”

Lance barked out a laugh. “Me? Testify? Not likely, Pidge.”

“Why not?”

“What could I say? How could I help?” Lance sighed. “I’m worthless.”

“No you’re not,” Pidge shot back emphatically. “You aren’t worthless. Lance, you probably know Keith the better than any living person in the universe. You spent five years together in every sense of the word. How can you say you’re worthless? Your testimony could prove that Keith is a Sentient. You know him so well; all you have to do is talk about him, praise him.” Pidge suddenly chuckled. “I _know_ you can do that.”

Lance shook his head. “No Pidge. I _don’t_ know him. I don’t know him at all.” He sighed and tilted his head back to rest on the edge of the sofa. “Gods, Pidge, do you know what that’s like? I mean, I _thought_ I knew him. I thought that I knew who he was, _what_ he was. Turns out I was completely wrong.”

“How can you be wrong? You love him. Surely that says something. If you didn’t know him, you _wouldn’t_ love him. What happened to that love?”

“It died.” Lance sat back up, eyes cold as he gazed into Pidge’s face. “I hate to disillusion you, Pidge, but love conquers nothing. Nothing.”

“How can you say that? How can you, of all people, say that?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“No it’s not. What about Allura and Lotor? What about them, huh? How can you say that love conquers nothing when they’re together?”

Lance shrugged. “Okay. I’ll give you that; they’ve got that unsinkable love where you put the other before yourself. But they’re an entirely different case. They have a one in a million type of love. What they have almost _never_ happens; it’s a fairy tale. A myth. And they are _damn_ lucky to have it. But us,” here Lance straightened, voice filled with conviction as he gestured between the two of them, “us mere mortals, we can’t ever hope for that. It’s too much to be expected. Our selfish little souls can’t handle that sort of love, can’t handle giving up our own well being for that of another.”

“So what? Why should that matter? So you don’t have that one-in-a-million love; but you still have love, don’t you?” Pidge shook his head. It was strange, but he was actually believing what he said, believing his words. “Hell, Lance, what happened to you? You used to be Love’s standard bearer. You used to be Love’s champion. You used to _believe_ in love. What happened to that?”

“Keith killed it. I killed it. Hells, I don’t know. I was stupid. I was foolish. I thought that love really was all we needed.” Lance barked out a sharp laugh. “Gods I was such a fool. How could I have ever believed in our love? How could I have ever believed I was _in_ love? It was lust. Pure and simple.”

Pidge slapped him. Hard. He stood, glared at Lance with cold eyes, somehow looming despite his small frame. The young pilot was trembling with his rage, voice low and threatening when he spoke. “Don’t you dare say that, Lance. Don’t you _ever_ say that around me again. If you do I swear I will hurt you so hard -- ” Pidge stilled himself, struggled to get his voice under control. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, steadied himself so that when he looked at Lance again, he was calm; an unearthly calm, but a calm none the less. “Lance, do you know how much I admired you -- admired Keith -- for that love you claim you killed? Do you know how much I looked up to you, longed to have that sort of strength, that same ability to commit myself to a single person? You two -- God, you two were fucking perfect. _Everybody_ wished that they could have what you two had. _Everybody._ Do you understand that Lance? Do you understand what I’m saying? We -- all of us -- looked to you two as our role models, as an example of what true love really is. And to hear you say that it was all just one big fucking lie...No. I don’t believe it. You _can’t_ fake what you had. You _can’t._ So stop wallowing in your own fucking self-pity and shape up!”

Lance rubbed his cheek and glared back at Pidge, a defensive ire rising, twisting his spirit and making his blood run hot. He stood, paced back and forth, too angry to sit and stare at Pidge’s small, hurt face anymore. “Well you’ll just have to, got that? Because that -- that wasn’t love. Or at least it wasn’t enough love. What Keith and I had -- well, maybe it _was_ love. Maybe it was. But look at what happened to us. If we were supposed to have ‘true love’ than we should still be together, right? If we really loved each other, than we would have worked it out, found out the truth. But we didn’t. And now...now it’s a little too late. There’s too much time between us, too many old wounds that are just starting to heal. Why open them again?”

“And you’re fine with that? You’re just going to let it be?”

“Fine? No. Not at all Pidge.” Lance laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. “Not at all. And you know why? Because I still love him. Twisted, isn’t it? After all the crap, after _I_ left _him_ I still love him. But I can’t love him now.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Pidge shook his head, disgusted with his friend. “Christ, Lance, I know you’re a selfish bastard but _try_ to think of someone other than yourself right now! So you don’t love Keith as much as you want to. So what? You love him, right? And maybe it isn’t as much as you think you should love him. But maybe it’s enough.”

Lance shook his head. “No. He deserves more than I can give him.”

“So, what? You’re just going to cast him aside because _you_ have some self-esteem issues?” Pidge growled out. “Because if you are, then I swear that I am going to beat some fucking sense into you. Because I’m not going to let you do that to him. I’m not going to let you throw away five years and my friend’s heart. He _needs_ you, you blind bastard. He loves you and he needs you and you -- you who claim to love him -- are hurting him so goddamned much.” Pidge swiped at his eyes, brushing away the angry, betraying tears. “You aren’t the only person who has feelings, you know.”

“I know that! You think that this is easy for me? You think that I _like_ having to look at Keith and want to kiss him and not be able to? You think I _enjoy_ not being able to tell him I love him?” Lance shook his head. “It’s twisted, it really is. All that hate -- I knew that love and hate were close, but I never realized I could hate him so much one day and the next day love him just as much as I hated him. But I can’t tell him that, I can’t love him right now because I _won’t_ let him hurt me again. And that’s how this will end: in pain. It's better to break it off now, stop it before it can start. It’s better for both of us because I’m too selfish to see him through this, to think about his pain when I’m hurting. I can’t love him enough to not hate him if he dies on me. But I _do_ love him, Pidge. Don’t doubt that. Don’t ever doubt that.” Lance looked down at his hands, voice quite and reflective. “I love him.”

Pidge could never tell later what, exactly, it was that caused them both to turn around and face the door Keith and Allura had disappeared into. Perhaps it was just the faintest intake of breath, the barest whisper of cloth on plush carpet, the soft clink of metal against metal that caught their attention. Or perhaps it was just Fate tugging on the strings of Destiny, grinning a mad, toothy grin as she strove to complicate life even further.

Whatever it was, the two boys turned, attention caught and dragged to the doorway and Keith’s pale from framed against the cold steel. He stood there, mouth opened in shock, eyes filled for the briefest of moments with a thousand complex emotions before shutting down once more, soul hiding behind the black curtain of his eyes. Lance swallowed hard, freezing once more in fear of his former lover. Pidge looked down at his feet, not wanting to be part of this tense room and wishing desperately that he was some place else; _any_ place so long as it wasn’t here.

“How much did you hear?” Lance’s voice was low and soft, breaking slightly as he forced the words out.

“Enough,” Keith replied, equally as quiet. Lance nodded slowly, swallowed hard once more.

“I see. If you’ll just excuse me, I’m going to go now.” Lance gave the assembled company a weak, sickly grin. He took a step back, ready to flee the room. Keith held out his hand.

“No, stop. Lance -- ”

“Please, Keith. You know how I feel. Let me go with at least a _little_ of my self-control in tact.” Lance smiled again, took another step back, than another, shakily edging his way to the door. “I...Good bye.”

And then he was gone.

Pidge risked a glance up at Keith, not knowing that he wasn’t breathing until his chest tightened and his pulse sped up. The other boy’s face was unreadable, an empty, inscrutable blankness that left Pidge wondering if Keith was shocked or just merely...accepting of Lance’s flight. He opened his mouth -- though what could he say now? -- and rocked forward on his heels. Keith cut him off with a look, and a sharp shake of his head. He took a long step forward, angry and determined. He growled low in his throat, a harsh, primal sound, one that sent shivers down Pidge’s spine and made him wonder if he should be calling for backup security or hand Keith some condoms and lube and let him go on his merry way. But he had to do something and, deciding that it was better to err on the side of caution and perhaps prevent what could be a rather nasty ‘accident’, he put himself in Keith’s path, one hand raised up to stop the other boy.

“Don’t. Keith, don’t.”

“Out of the way Pidge.”

“No.” Pidge shook his head emphatically, trying not to think about his odds of survival against a mentally unstable Keith. “Not until you tell me what you’re going to do.”

“First I’m going to find Lance. Then, we’ll see.” Keith looked down at Pidge, eyes dark with some emotion. “Now move. Or I _will_ hurt you.”

Pidge moved.

Keith left.

When Pidge recounted these events to Allura, much later when they were both had some time to spare, he supposed that he could have elaborated Keith's exit a little. He could have made it more dramatic, had Keith leave in a swirl of emotion and turmoil and melodramatic angst. But that wasn’t what happened, and he wasn’t about to embroider a story so close to himself unless there was a rather hefty reward attached.

But that was later, and at the moment Pidge wasn’t even thinking about telling Allura what she had missed while gone on some unknown errand. He wasn’t even thinking about moving for awhile, too busy contemplating the possible danger he had just unleashed on the tortured Lance. All he could do was stand where Keith had left him, staring out the door and debating with himself if he stood _any_ chance at stopping Keith before he did something that everyone would regret horribly later. That was how Allura found him moments later, rubbing her hands dry and a confused expression on her face.

“What happened?”

“I, uh, um. Hm. I don’t really -- ” Pidge sighed and shrugged and smiled vaguely.

“Real articulate.” Allura looked about. “Where’s Lance? And Keith?” Pidge shrugged again. Allura sighed and frowned. “I go the bathroom for five minutes and everybody disappears.”

“Hey, I’m still here.”

A knock on the doorframe and a slight cough drew their attention, saved them from the awkward silence. They turned, relief hidden behind surprise at the sight of Hunk standing there, a contrite expression twisting his face and his nervous hands twisting a felt cap. He straightened almost imperceptibly when the two turned their attention on him, and smiled slightly, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Hey guys.” Hunk swallowed nervously. “I want to testify on Keith’s behalf.”

~~~

Keith managed to make it out into the hallway before a’Shteru took control and froze his legs. Lance’s lithe form disappeared around the corner and had Keith been able to whimper he would have. He strained against himself, limbs caught and trembling as he tried to make them move.

 _Let me go! Let me go! I have to catch him, work this out._

a’Shteru’s grip upon their shared body strengthened, his thoughts harsh and demanding. They flashed through his head, almost too fast for him to process. _No. He makes you weak. You don’t need him. Let him go._

 _Yes I do! Release me!_ Keith struggled harder, took one painful step forward. _I_ will _fight you. I won’t let you keep me from him. Not now. Not ever._

 _Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait._ a’Shteru said placating. _Let’s make a deal._

Keith stopped his struggles. _A deal?_

 _Yes. A deal. Now we both know that you will lose this war. I am stronger than you are, and I’m getting stronger. You, on the other hand, are getting ever weaker. Now obviously Lance means quite a bit to you, if our battles are any indication. He features quite often as well in your rather incoherent thoughts._ a’Shteru grinned. _You are a naughty one, aren’t you Keith._

Keith blushed. _Stay out of there. Get out of my head._

 _Keith, Keith, Keith. I can no more stay out of your head than grow my wings again and fly. We are one, even if you don’t like to admit it. Which leads me to my deal._

 _What’s your deal? What do you want from me? I won’t kill anyone. I won’t hurt my friends; and I won’t let you do it either._

 _That’s fine. I wasn’t going to ask you to do that for me. All I want is for you to remember, to hear_ my _life,_ our _life before. I want us to be...whole once more._

 _And in return?_

 _In return? Well, I let you go. And I will not fight you on Lance. Not now, not again, not ever. Though it pains me to see a part of me be this weak, I will not fight you, I will not try to stop you. Are we agreed?_

A long second stretched out, endless eternity bound by so short a span. He was wary, yes, but could he afford to lose this opportunity, lose this golden chance? What harm could there be in remembering this long forgotten part of his life? It was a small trade if it meant that he could be with Lance, could actually try to rebuild what they had once had without fear of a’Shteru.

 _All right. I will remember. But not now. Now I must deal with Lance. But I will remember._

 _Good._

And suddenly, Keith could move once more, could run once more and he shot off down the hall, sprinting after the elusive Lance. But even as he focused everything on Lance, on this precious moment, this opportunity that would not -- _could_ not -- be wasted, he heard a’Shteru laugh. And a chill caught his chest and would not leave.

~~~

“Lance! Lance, wait!” Keith’s pleading voice echoed down the hall. Lance sped up, praying desperately that he would be able to dodge the other boy, that Keith would give up or Sirao would intervene or _something_ would happen so that he wouldn’t have to deal with all this shit right now. Not right now. Not when he himself was so unsure, so afraid. But he knew that he prayed in vain.

“Lance.”

Somehow, Keith had caught up with Lance, grabbed him by the shirt and stopped him, spun the slimmer boy about until they were face to anguished face and eye to eye and Lance couldn’t hide anymore. His breath was shallow, an empty, rushed fulfillment of biological need, only a hairsbreadth away from hyperventilation. He trembled in Keith’s strong grip, filled with some nameless fear, some unutterable desire, and even as he cowered, flushed with shame, he couldn’t help but think at how beautiful Keith was then, how delectable and wonderful. He ducked his head before the other boy could notice the lust in his eyes and he embarrassed himself further.

“Look at me, please.”

Keith’s voice was so soft, a caress in itself. A soft hand reached up to rest on his face, a tender touch that turned his head up, drew him into those dark pools that were Keith’s eyes; dark pools that finally gleamed like they used to, finally seemed to belong to _Keith_ and not that...thing that lived inside his friend’s head. Keith smiled gently, and Lance smiled too, swallowing a quiet whimper as the hand left his cheek.

“Lance, why did you run from me?”

He tried to look down, but Keith wouldn’t let him, and Lance sighed softly before responding. “Because.” Keith frowned slightly at his response and Lance swallowed. “Because I had to. Because I hurt you once and I’m not going to do it again. Because I’m afraid of you.” He tore his face from Keith’s grip, turned away from those wide, gentle eyes. “Because...because I love you and it’s not _enough_. It’s not as much as I _need_ to love you. Because I don’t want to be hurt by you again, don’t want to hate you again and it’s easier to just pretend that nothing has happened and just...just break it off now before anything _does_ happen and we get in too deep. Because I’m afraid of you and I’m afraid of a’Shteru and I don’t want to be afraid that the next time you touch me, it’s to rip out my throat or heart and that this time you really _will_ kill me.”

“Lance, that’s not going to happen. I promise that it won’t. Besides, this isn’t about a’Shteru or Allura’s crusade or slavery or anything else. This is about you and me. This is -- ” Keith sighed and closed his eyes, face lined with weary frustration. “I...I don’t know, maybe this is just about how much I love you, and how much I missed you. I don’t understand how you can just end this. I don’t understand how you can’t let us have another chance. I love you and you love me. That should be enough.”

“But it’s _not!_ ” Lance turned back to face the other, eyes suddenly bright with tears, voice breaking as he tried to express the depth of himself. “It’s not enough, not for this. How can we survive this? How can I help you through this? I can’t. No one can. Not on this...weak love that we share.”

“How can you call it weak? Lance...Kami, I don’t know if I have the strength that you do. I don’t know if I could have made all your sacrifices. And for what? Someone who betrayed you, who broke your heart.” He smiled, reached out to touch Lance’s hand, draw the other into his eyes once more. “What we have...I don’t think I could _ever_ call it weak.”

Lance laughed, bitter and mocking. “But it’s just not enough. Gods, Keith, don’t you think that I _want_ to stay here, to be with you? Don’t you think that if I had this opportunity in any other situation, I wouldn’t hesitate for even a _second_ in getting you back? But I don’t know if I _can_ love you now. You...You frighten me. You scare me so much sometimes. And not just when it’s not you, when a’Shteru takes over and I get hurt. Its when I look at you and I can’t breathe because I can’t help but think that this is going to be the last time I’m going to see you. That sometime in the night, someone’s going to come and kill you. And all I can think of is ‘Gods don’t let me love him anymore because it’s going to hurt so goddamned much when he’s gone.’ How can you call _that_ love?”

“Because it is. Because if you _didn’t_ love me then it wouldn’t hurt so much if I died. And if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be asking you to...to stay. To be here. With me. To just...to just _be_ there for me. And it’s unfair, I know. It’s horribly, horribly unfair, but Kami, Lance, I need you. I need you so fucking much right now it’s scary. I’ve never needed anyone as much as I need you.” Keith reached out and touched Lance’s hair, brushed it from his eyes, turned his body until Lance was trapped against the wall, pinned in place by Keith’s steady, soulful gaze. “I need you and I’m frightened by that because I don’t think I’ve ever needed _anyone_ before. And, in some twisted and perverted way, I think it means that I love you.”

“But it’s not...it’s not _Mishak son’ryou._ It’s not that perfect love. And how can any other love survive?” Lance swallowed as Keith leaned in, coming ever closer until his breath could be felt softly against Lance’s skin.

“Maybe...maybe I don’t need that perfect love. Maybe all I need is you.” Keith’s voice was low, little more than a breathy, throaty whisper, so close to Lance’s lips that the words were felt more than heard. And then even that little gap was gone, and suddenly Lance was back in the Academy, back in their bathroom, back at the start of this whole mess that was _them,_ except this time he was the prey and Keith was the predator and _Gods_ but did he taste good and how could he have been so stupid as to even _think_ about giving this up?

Then Keith’s lips were gone, and both their breaths came hard and fast and Keith was staring at him with eyes full of fear and anticipation, and all Lance could think about was not letting _this_ go again, letting whatever it was that made his soul burn so bright leave him ever again. He felt so alive again, skin tingling and senses open to _everything_ in such wonderful awareness, but mostly open to Keith. Gods, he wanted to be kissed again.

“I love you, Lance,” Keith whispered soft and gentle, his face buried against Lance’s shoulder, words spoken into the soft skin of Lance’s trembling neck. “I love you so much. Please, don’t leave me. Not again. Never again.”


	32. Interlude

_The History of the Ki’ir-ar  
As told by Ke’Chevar  
Jao’Xai of Jehara-thegn  
Marak-lai of the Nemian Ki’ir-ar  
Expert taken from  
The Beginning of the End_

_...until one night, during the fifth month of the year of the Flying-horse, the stars began to fall. They left their set place in the heavens, streaking from the firmament to land upon our lush land in balls of fire that destroyed hundreds in their wake...Those of our brethren who nested in the Seeklippen Aerie left their strongholds to see why the stars had fallen...they encountered a strange craft which glowed as bright as the sun with a white heat. They could hear movement inside these white crafts, the sounds of life...Fearing the worse, a few of their Kreiger were sent to fetch water to cool the craft, the Zhiyu and Akush’ai of the Aerie staying behind to prepare to help those who were trapped inside...When those Kreiger who had been sent to fetch the water returned, their Aerie-mates were dead. Standing over them were strangers who, though upright and shaped the same as us, lacked our wings and seemed far shorter in stature when compared to us. They brandished strange weapons and called to each other in a guttural tone, prodding the bodies of the dead with callous ease, lacking the honor to even ask the Gods for the most cursory forgiveness for their foul deed. Enraged, those few Kreiger left of the Seeklippen Aerie landed and approached these strangers, demanding an explanation for this action. The strange beings shouted something in their harsh tongue, than the alien weapons in their hands shot out a beam of pure light. The weapon sheared through skin and bone with ease, and it took some a long time to die for these strangers, seeing that our helpless brethren could not defend themselves, took great joy in hearing their death cries and prolonged their honorable end for a long time. All save one was killed, and even that one suffered great damage, one light-beam shearing through her wing as she flew to safety. She managed to reach the Rein-aerie and told her tale, despite the great pain. She died as the dawn touched the sky. These are her words, the words of Kalai’an:_

 _“...Large holes were torn in flesh, the edges bleeding only slightly, the grievous wounds some how sealed. The weapons they carried shot beams of a strange, white light that burned with the heat of a thousand fires...None of the dead had been armed, none had threatened in anyway, but those strangers who came from the fallen stars did not care. They killed without mercy. They killed without warning. My friends, my Celai, died before my eyes and I could do nothing to stop them...”_

 _The wise han’Ilipai, Akush’ai of the Greatest Order and possessor of Great Sight, prophesied this after hearing the words of the fallen Kalai’an: “And so it comes to pass. The stars fall from the sky and the guardians of the sea are slaughtered. Our time on this planet comes to a close, our chapter in the universe reaches its end. Thus do the Ki’ir-ar die, hunted in their home, exiles in their own land, never to be free again until the day when Vengeance walks the mortal plane and weeps tears of blood.”_


	33. Chapter 33

Date: September 29th, 10039 A.U  
Day 12 of trial  
Location: Outside the Chamber of the Council of Five  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0930 STG.

"Please, Hunk, do you really have to do this? They're our friends -- "

" _Were_ our friends." Hunk's grip on Sven's wrist tightened almost imperceptibly, just enough to encourage the Swede to walk a little faster. "You have to remember that, Sven. They _were_ our friends; they aren't anymore. Now they're nothing more than common traitors. Anarchists. Destroyers. They want to tear down the Alliance, Sven. Do you realize that? They want to make everything that my father and your father fought and died for. Do you want that to happen?"

"No, but -- "

"Would you be friends with anyone who tried to do something like that?"

"No -- "

"So therefore they aren't our friends anymore."

"But Hunk -- "

"We're here." Hunk stopped before the large oak doors, the slightest frown turning his lips downward. He turned toward Sven, eyes hard. "Sven, I can't tell you to hate them; Hells, _I_ don't hate them. But you have to ask yourself, 'which is more important? My friends or my people.' Because that's what it all boils down to. If you side with Allura, decide that the Ki’ir-ar should be free, than you side with those that would destroy us. It may not seem fair -- it's _not_ fair -- but sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself for the greater good." Hunk reached down, pulled Sven's face up until the two were looking eye to eye. "Are you able to do that, Sven?"

Sven swallowed, tried to turn away from Hunk's piercing eyes. The mechanic's grip tightened and Sven's eyes tightened from the pain. His mouth was suddenly dry -- when had this change come over Hunk? When had his smiling, open hearted friend become this Alliance fanatic, this hard and callous person?

"Well?"

"Ja. I am on your side." Sven could barely get the words out, his throat suddenly tight. "I will not be a part of something that will collapse the Alliance."

"Good." Hunk moved closer, near enough to kiss, gripping hand turning into something more like a caress. Sven shied away and Hunk sighed, vaguely hurt though he knew that every action he made was premeditated, ordained by those who had made him what he was. "Thank you for coming with me today."

Sven shrugged. "You are the only one I have left. Why would I not come?"

"Right." Hunk straightened his suit, running his finger along the collar to loosen it. "Listen, I want you to know that there's going to be some things said in there that may shock you. Actually, I _know_ that there's going to be some things said in there that will shock you. But I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter what's said in there, I'm still the same person. I'm still Hunk, your friend. Please, remember that."

"I will. I don't understand what you mean, but I will. You are Hunk. There is nothing that could change that." Sven's frowned deepened. "Yet, I _still_ don't understand why you must do this! Why must you hurt them? Surely you aren't required to do this."

"I'm sorry, Sven. I have my orders. 'Ours is not to question why,' right?" Hunk smiled, squeezed Sven's shoulder. "You don't have to be here, though. You don't have to watch if you don't want to."

"No. I will stay. You asked me to be here, and I will be." Sven frowned. "I don't like it, though."

"Thank you. I mean that, Sven. Thank you." Hunk pushed the great doors open and ushered Sven in. "You'll be sitting near the back, if that makes you feel better. I'll come and sit with you after I testify."

"All right." Sven swallowed, torn between his desire to see his friends one last time before they truly did become enemies and his common sense. Better to sit in the shadows, unobserved, during the chaos he knew would come. Better to hold the memories of his friends pure in his mind than to see them now, watch their accusing eyes drill into his soul at his betrayal.

"Sven?"

The young Swede stiffened, looked up at approaching man with a mixed fear. All his horrors seemed to coalesce, though he was by no means close to the man that now came forward. Rather, it was as though this man was suddenly all his friends -- was Keith and Lance, Pidge and Allura -- all of those he had ever wronged in any way.

"What are you doing here, Sven?"

"The trial. To watch. Here. I am -- " Sven looked down, red embarrassment staining his cheeks. His eloquence had fled in the face of his panic, abandoning him when he needed it most, and leaving him grasping at this alien tongue. He took a deep breath, forced his mind to calm and let the words form themselves clearly. "Sorry. I am a little nervous."

The man smiled kindly, patted Sven's shoulder consolingly. "I understand; this is a very important day. We are witnessing the birth of history -- there is a certain thrill in that which never goes away."

Sven smiled shakily. "Ja. I suppose you are right."

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here." A card was slipped into his pocket. "I'm on your side, Sven. If you ever need anything -- anything at all -- I'll be here." The hand squeezed his shoulder, a heavy weight that seemed to speak something more than friendly concern. Sven tensed, and then the hand was gone and the man was walking away, heavy, familiar tread fading quickly in the noisy room. Sven plucked the card from his pocket, eyes widening slightly in surprise. A frown slowly wrinkled his smooth skin, darkening his already shadowed brows.

 _Why would he be staying at GG headquarters?_

~~~

"Hey." Lance placed a quick kiss on Keith's cheek, a lingering promise of something more, before sliding into the neighboring chair. Keith tensed slightly, then relaxed, a slight frown on his face. "How's everything?"

"Well, Allura's hornier than a goat in heat because she hasn't had access to Lotor for a month, and thus I doubt she has much of her mind on the case, Pidge still doesn't want to be alone in the same room with me, and I'm about two seconds away from a nervous breakdown. Other than that, everything's just peachy." Keith put his head down with a sigh, worried eyes watching Allura pace back and forth before the table, lips moving as she went through the questions she would ask in redirect of her last expert witness. There were dark circles under Keith's eyes, a haggard, sleepless look about him that belied his flippant words. Lance reached out, gently stroked Keith's hair, eyes turned down in worry.

"Sven's here."

Keith looked up. "Really? Where?"

"In the back." Lance tried unsuccessfully to keep the bitter tinge from his voice. "The bastard is too cowardly to come up here and face us. He's talking with Coran right now."

"Don't be so hard on him, Lance. He's your oldest friend. It's not his fault -- "

"Not his fault? He's the one who's staying away. He's the one who -- " Lance stopped and took a deep breath. "Never mind." He put his head down as well, turning to look at Keith with worry in his eyes. He felt so helpless, so powerless in the face of the Alliance. What good could he do just sitting? What help, what relief, could he give Keith now when Keith needed it the most?

"Hey, do you think we can appeal and have you tried as a minor?" Allura leaned down the table, voice soft and speculative.

"Allura." Keith frowned. "We've gone over this before. The answer is still no."

"Right, right, you were Confirmed. It was just a thought." Allura stood up again, brows creasing slightly. She was trying so hard to do this right, to prove to the world that she was more than a damsel in distress; she probably had more riding on the outcome of this trial than even Keith did.

"What was she talking about?" Lance reached out to stroke Keith's cheek, long fingers delicate and questing. Keith flinched slightly at the contact and Lance pulled away, hurt all too evident in his malleable face.

"I'll tell you later." Keith's eyes were full of words that he could never say, begging for patience. Lance sat up and looked away, callous in his prideful hurt. Keith closed his eyes. "I promise I'll explain, Lance."

Lance shrugged, but already he regretted his hasty actions. Time was too short to be wasted playing foolish, pride filled games. He turned, mouth open to apologize, to offer hollow comfort and empty promises, but Keith had closed his eyes, tired mind begging for but one moment more of rest. Lance closed his mouth and just stared, burning the image into his suddenly fearful heart. There was a chill to the air, a certain sense of dread that settled on him as heavy as a funeral shroud. The dead air of the grave swept through his soul, and suddenly Keith seemed to flicker before his eyes, fading in and out of blackness like the guttering flame of a candle. Lance reached out, touched Keith's shoulder, stroked Keith's hair, reassured himself that his lover was still there. And there he was, still exhausted at the wooden table, still black around the eyes and thinner than before, as painfully tangible as he had been before.

But comforting though the feel of Keith was, Lance was still filled with fear, and try as hard as he might, nothing could rid him of the sensation that they were running quickly out of time.

~~~

Time: 1400

"The plaintiff would like to call Lt. Henry St. Cloud to the stand."

Allura smiled slightly at her witness, ruining the almost perfect effect of the cold, distant lawyer she had tried to project. Hunk smiled back at her, steps slow and measured, feigned nervousness lending him a vaguely guilty look. He took the stand, breathed deeply, stalling for a moment to orient himself. He spotted Sven easily, black hair shiny under the light, head bowed in a vain attempt to blend in with the rest of the observers. Poor Sven, already regretting his hasty anger. It was too bad that the web had already begun to tighten, that there was no exit left for either of them. His eyes shifted past the bowed head, an inexplicable guilt churning his stomach, and quickly took in the rest of the assembled audience; press for the most part, with a few spectators crouching like tourists around a Point of Interest. Then he saw _HIM_ and suddenly no nervousness needed to be feigned.

 _What in the nine hells is_ HE _doing here?!_ Hunk swallowed hard, mouth dry and painful. _Do they trust me so little that it's necessary to have_ HIM _watching my every move? It's not like I wasn't going to live up to my end of the bargain. Sure, I thought about it, but I probably have more invested in this then they do._ A shaky sigh slipped past his lips and Allura looked up, concern painfully evident in her eyes; and Hunk suddenly felt a little less sure about going through with this.

"It'll be all right, Hunk," Allura whispered as she walked past the witness box. "Just tell the truth. That's all I -- we -- want."

 _No it's not. Trust me Allura, the truth is the last thing you want._ Hunk smiled back, trying not to feel bad about his betrayal. He almost wished that he could actually say no, refuse just this once. But he had given up that ability a long, long time ago. _'Mine is not to question why. I'm just here to do or die.'_

The bailiff approached, cleared her throat. This was it. The last chance to turn back -- infinitesimal though it might have been -- was gone.

"Raise your right hand. Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is truth? Do you swear that you will not knowingly perjure yourself before the Law?"

"I do."

"Please state your full name for the court and spell your last name."

"Henry St. Cloud. S-t period C-l-o-u-d with a capital 'S' and a capital 'C.'" The bailiff glanced at the dais where the five councilmen sat and then nodded imperceptibly at Allura. The Arusian princess approached slowly, smiled as gently as she could, believing wholeheartedly in Hunk's show of nerves.

"Could you state your rank and current assignment for the court?"

"I'm a Lieutenant in the Space division of the Galaxy Garrison. I'm currently assigned to Arus as the mechanical expert for the Voltron Force."

"Thank you. And who is your C.O?"

"Captain Keith Tsumetai." Lotor was the only one who didn't frown.

"Could you point to him, please?"

"Sure." Hunk smiled, the false cheer echoing hollowly in him. He seemed apart from this all, like one of his machines, nothing more than a puppet with no emotions to get in his way. It was so easy to act his part when he didn't have to be a part of it. "He's right there. Hi Keith." One of the judges on the dais above him coughed disapprovingly.

Keith waved back, smiled weakly. Hunk supposed that he should feel sorry now, but it was so hard to remember what being sorry felt like.

"And how long have you served under Keith?"

"Um...Three years now, I think." Hunk squinted, pretended to think, though he knew the answer down to the very second. "Yes. Three years."

"So is it safe to say that you know Keith fairly well?"

"Yes, I think so."

"How would you describe Keith as a leader, Hunk? Sorry, Henry."

Hunk smiled easily, projecting the same, falsely friendly aura that had enveloped him since the day he learned how to lie. "Oh he's a great Captain. He takes very good care of us; every time we're about to do something stupid, he stops us. It's almost like having my mother around again. Actually, it is _exactly_ like having my mother around.” Hunk laughed softly. “He definitely has that maternal instinct -- he’s the only guy under thirty that I know that has one of those. He keeps us in check, prevents us from letting our emotions rule us. I don't think I've ever had the privilege to serve under someone as calm and collected as Keith; I actually feel sorry for him sometimes, you know? I mean, if he wasn't from a military family, I don't think he would've ever joined the Garrison. He should've been a Civilian -- as good a soldier he is, he gets too caught up in the whole thing. Too involved. He just, well, cares too much."

“And what did Keith do while he was posted on Arus?”

“He killed. He was good at it too. Probably why he’s a Captain instead of a Lieutenant like the rest of us. As much as he cares, he’s damn vicious too. I bet he’s got the best confirmed kill record out of all of us. Christ, you should see what he can do with the Black Lion -- sometimes there’s not even enough of the enemy left to be called slag.”

Allura coughed nervously, glaring at Hunk. “Thank you. Did you know Keith before you served under him?"

"Yes, I met him back when I was at the Academy. We were both there for a year together."

Allura nodded slowly, looked down at the legal pad she held in her hand. "Would you say that Keith is the same person now as he was then?"

Hunk sneaked a glance at Swift, eyes darting at him for only a second before snapping back to face Allura. The Alliance lawyer was obviously frustrated, mouth tightly clenched to prevent himself from calling out an objection to the obviously leading question; but restrain himself he did and had Hunk not been on the stand he would have smiled. Good. Swift was sticking to his part. The man was a good political animal -- which was probably the reason why _HE_ had chosen the young lawyer in the first place.

"If I had to hazard a guess, I think so. Lance could probably answer this question better; I wasn't particularly close to Keith back then. Still, he was always the responsible one among us. He has what you would call 'leadership ability'; I mean, he always knows what's going on, what needs to be done, who's pissed at who, who's fuc -- " Hunk bit his tongue and quickly rephrased, "uh, intimate with who. The whole shebang."

“And in your time together, have you ever had the impression that Keith was unable to differentiate between right and wrong? Has he ever questioned his existence? Has he ever exhibited any of the ‘higher’ emotions such as Love or Courage?”

“Objection!” Swift was on his feet before his mind could catch up to his body. “These questions are irrelevant. The sentience of the plaintiff is not in question during the time that the witness was in contact with him. It has already been agreed that the plaintiff exhibited Sentience while infused with Terran genes.”

“Your Honors, I must make sure that there is _no_ doubt that Keith was Sentient during his time on Arus. Besides, the evidence that will be brought up now will be important later on in this trial.”

“I overrule the objection.” The dEkk-mnzvar, Ha’asaashi leaned forward, black-flecked eyes bright with curiosity. “I, for one, would find it most enlightening to hear about the actions undertaken by the plaintiff while Sentient.”

“I second that decision.” Larisan, the Harmoni representative, flicked his tongue out, eyes narrowed slightly.

“I do as well.” Lotor’s voice was almost lost in the vast room.

“The majority rules to overrule the objection. The witness may continue.” Ha’asaashi smiled slightly at Allura. “You may proceed, Counselor.”

“Thank you. Now, Lt. St. Cloud, could you answer those questions?”

“Sure, but I don’t know how helpful I’ll be. I mean, I’ve never seen Keith in any sort of angst ridden debate over the meaning of life. Far as I know, he was a soldier through and through -- he followed his orders and didn’t question whether what he was doing was right or wrong. I mean, that’s what made him so good; he could receive orders just as well as he could take them. He never really strayed from the book, y’know? I mean, he never did anything that would overtly disobey Alliance policy. The Alliance is right -- the good guys -- and whoever opposes the Alliance is wrong -- the bad guys. He’s never questioned whether what he was doing was right -- he’s always just accepted it. That’s not to say he doesn’t know the difference. I mean, he hasn’t ever done anything like, I don’t know, massacre entire villages.”

A soft chorus of laughter came from three of the judges and Allura smiled. "Thank you. No further questions.”

"Mr. Swift, would you like to cross examine this witness?" Justice Giroux, the New Earth appointee, looked down from his high seat at the center of the dais. He had a sweet voice, cultured and pleasant, one that seemed at odds with his heavy-set appearance.

"Thank you, Your Honor." Swift stood and approached the witness stand slowly, belying his name. He caught Hunk's eye, brow raised slightly.

 _Are you ready?_

Hunk nodded slightly, just the barest dip of his chin. Yes. He was ready.

"Good afternoon, Lt. St. Cloud."

"Please, call me Hunk. Everybody else does."

"Very well, Hunk." Swift paused, mutable face suddenly affecting an expression of enlightenment, as if some great truth had appeared before him. Hunk managed not to smile; it looked very convincing. "Hunk. That's an interesting nickname. Is that the only other name that you have?"

"No."

"Really? What else are you called?"

"Well, I haven't been called this in years -- not since I legally changed my name,” his eyes strayed to Keith, noted that the Ki’ir-ar had tensed slightly, perhaps picking up on the tension that Hunk felt, “but I used to be known as Dorian Agipo."

"Liar!" Keith was up on his feet, pale and trembling, one taloned finger pointing accusingly at Hunk. "You lie! Dorian Agipo is dead!"

Hunk smiled inwardly, ignoring the feigned shock on Swift's face and the slowly building rumble of the confused crowd. Keith was reacting just as he had hoped. "No Keith. I'm very much alive."

"But -- but how? I saw you die! I saw all of you die!"

"How? You want to know how I'm alive?" He was getting angry, though he had promised _HIM_ that he could distance himself from his rage. He wanted to hurt Keith, hurt him so badly that his old captain would never recover; he wanted Keith to feel _his_ pain. And so he stood, suddenly, violently, grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled up, ripping the soft cloth as he did. His fingers found the hidden latch on his otherwise smooth stomach, released it and let the broad expanse of his chest iris open to expose the quiet machinery that made up his body; the clear tubes that sent his blood cycling through what few organic parts he still had left; the internal respirator that kept his lungs working; half-organic, half-cybernetic heart that created the illusion of life; and worst of all, the empty, sterile, hollowness of a shell where once the work of chaos had been turned back. "This is how. I'm alive because the Alliance found me at the bottom of a Sinistrian Hell-pit three long, painful months after they found you. I'm alive because instead of being kind and letting me die, the Alliance put me back together. I'm alive because I let them turn me into a machine, a cyborg. I'm alive because I'm not."

"No," Keith was shaking his head. "You died. You aren't Dorian. Dorian died. I killed him. I killed him! I killed all of them!" The court erupted into chaos at this pronouncement, buzzing and humming. Justice Giroux shouted for order, words punctuated by the pounding of his gavel even as Keith lunged across the table, hands outstretched and aching to wrap around Hunk's neck, his action sending the noise even higher. "You aren't Dorian! You're not!"

"But I am! You left me to die, Keith! You left me to rot, left me to become... _this_...this monstrosity, this affront to life! You left me to die! How many of the others were still alive, huh? How many of the others did you sacrifice to save your own flesh?"

"None! They died! They all died! I heard them die, heard them scream. I led them to their deaths and they all died!" Keith struggled against the restraining arms of Allura and Lance, eyes wild and voice harsh. "They died because of me! Don't you dare say that they didn't! The screaming stopped on the second day -- they _must_ have died! They _had_ to have died! I _knew_ that they were going to die! I knew that!"

"Order! Order! Bailiff, take the Lieutenant away. I will have order restored in this court, do you hear me? I will have order!" The gavel's noise was lost among the roar of the crowd. Two of the guards posted at the Council room's doors came forward to take Hunk off of the stand, lead him out of the room in a forced double time. But even as he was hustled away from the chaos, Hunk locked eyes for one long moment with Keith, read the betrayal and anger that went straight to the soul.

 _Why?_ Keith's lips barely moved, question expressed more through those painful black eyes than from any sound.

"You stole my humanity, Keith. I'm just returning the favor." Hunk smiled, knew that Keith got the message as clearly as if he had shouted it.

The smaller door that he was pushed through slid silently closed. It was done. There was no way that Keith could get out of this; he was as good as dead now. The final outburst was the cincher -- they couldn’t have planned it any better. Even the dEkk-mnzvar would be forced to consider the flip-side of Allura’s claim: If Sentience was conveyed by genes, who could say that it was Sentience that would emerge dominant? Who could say that it wasn’t the beast that won in the end?

Hunk should have felt revenged. But there was only a hollow emptiness inside.

~~~

Date: September 30th, 10039 A.U  
Location: GG Headquarters, 1534 Kissinger St  
6th floor. Suite 6003.  
Time: 2425

 _Lord, what have I done?_

Bile rose in the back of Hunk's throat and he swallowed hard, biting back the bitter taste. He felt dirty. Dirty and empty, and horribly let down. How could he have done it? How could he have let Sven do this to himself, let Sven become so...unclean?

Sven had come to him that night, upholding his promise to always be there no matter what the day before had revealed. Sven had come and offered himself and it had been...wonderful. Wonderful because for one aching moment Hunk had been able to forget. Forget everything; the war, the pain, the empty hollowness inside that confronting Keith had brought out all over again.

But then it ended and instead of feeling better, Hunk felt worse. It was insane. Completely insane. For nine long, bitter, angry years Hunk had nursed his rage, kept it hidden from everyone behind his happy veneer. He should have been ecstatic that it was finally released. He should have been overjoyed that it was finally over, that all the shit he'd kept hidden was out in the open. He should have been able to go on with his life, let all the crap go and be happy and just...live.

Instead there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. No joy, no anger, nothing; just a hollowness deep within that couldn't be filled because somewhere along the line the bitterness had left him. Somewhere between the explosion and this night revenge had left him, leaving nothing except for...guilt.

He felt guilty. He felt guilty because he had just sold whatever was left of his soul for a fleeting moment of happiness; but even that joy was sour and empty, because even as he let loose at Keith, he remembered all the times he owed his life to Keith. He remembered every kind deed, every comforting moment, every time that Keith had been his friend, unconditionally and unhesitatingly. He remembered the way that Keith's face would crumple in pain because something he did got someone on the team hurt; or how much the killing sickened him, left him vomiting and shaking out of sight of the others. And those memories hurt more than the ghost pain of all of his old wounds.

 _It's not fucking fair!_ He couldn't even cry anymore, not properly, not since the accident. _They took everything else. Why couldn't they have taken the guilt too? Why'd they have to leave me all these fucking emotions? I don't want them! I don't need them! Why couldn't they have let me die?_ His throat clenched around a scream, forcing the primal cry into a choked whimper.

Sven murmured at the noise and turned over, hunching closer to Hunk's body, and his sleeping body was suddenly bathed in stripes of moonlight, so beautiful that the lump in Hunk's throat tightened. This. This was life. This was pure and good and what right did he have to corrupt Sven, lead him down into the unpleasant darkness in which Hunk lived? His presence was profanity against the purity of life. He needed to leave, before Sven could be dragged too far down.

Hunk slid slowly away from Sven, one hand feeling the floor for his boxers. But as he slipped away from the warm ball of Sven's body, one arm snaked out, draped itself across his chest. Sven's mouth turned down in a soft moue of displeasure, lines of worry suddenly marring his peaceful face; a soft sound of need slipped out and the arm tightened. Hunk froze, afraid to break Sven's rest and destroy the beauty that sleep created -- and if he left that's what would happen.

He couldn’t let that purity be destroyed completely. He couldn’t. Not when Sven was the only thing left that he could truly feel for, could truly believe in. And he couldn’t leave Sven, not so long as Sven was the last good, honest thing left in his life. Everything else was a lie -- but not Sven. Never Sven.

It was better that they both descend into the darkness, taking the easy, almost painless road, than force their way back into the harsh purity of light. And maybe if they went together they could pretend for a little while that it was better this way. Besides, Sven would never know the whole truth; he would live in happy ignorance of the true depth of Hunk's betrayal. To Sven, Keith would always be the enemy. He, at least, would never have to sacrifice friendship for loyalty.

Hunk slipped back into bed, biting his tongue until the blood slid down out of the corner of his mouth and the empty hollow in his soul could almost be forgotten from the pain. It was too late for him.

It was too late for them both.


	34. Interlude

_Excerpts from transcript  
Talk With the Condemned  
Subject: Keith S. Tsumetai,  
a.k.a, a'Shteru, Ki’ir-ar of Nemai_

_Q: I know that you have a male lover and I was wondering if that's normal for Ki’ir-ar?_

 _K: Not at all. There are very, very few homosexual Ki’ir-ar. Or at least that's the way it is on Nemai._

 _Q: Why?_

 _K: Well, homosexuality is highly disproved of -- if not actively discouraged -- for a variety of reasons. The main one, though, is that homosexual Ki’ir-ar don't reproduce._

 _Q: You're saying that homosexuality isn't accepted at all on Nemai?_

 _K: No, that's not quite it. Once a Ki’ir-ar has successfully reproduced, they can have a homosexual lover if they want. It's just that once a Ki’ir-ar reaches maturity, it's expected that they continue their line and continue the population._

 _Q: Why is it so important that you reproduce? In most cultures, homosexuality is accepted for that very reason; it's a passive form of population control._

 _K: And I'm sure that if the Ki’ir-ar had a population problem, then homosexuality would be okay. I'm sure that this isn't making any sense to you, because you come from a culture where you have a population problem. But that's not the case. In fact, it's almost the opposite. The Ki’ir-ar need offspring desperately for the population is so low that extinction is a real possibility. More than the overwhelming need to pass on the bloodline, more than the honor of winning a good mate, or the weight of a good pedigree, Ki’ir-ar reproduce just to reproduce. When I was last on Nemai, there were less than a million Ki’ir-ar on the entire planet. Even at its highest peak, the Ki’ir-ar population never topped more than half a billion. Between the Alliance, nature and the Tsa-Eitog, you're looking at the death of a species._

 _Q: What do you mean, exactly?_

 _K: Well, Ki’ir-ar are naturally unsuited to large populations. Due to our long lives -- the average span during peace-times used to be three hundred Nemian years which would be fifteen hundred standard years -- if we expanded at the rate that most populations did, there wouldn't be enough room on the planet for all of us. Nor would there be enough food or water or shelter. Besides, Ki’ir-ar can be a little territorial. Therefore, it's necessary to have natural checks, such as having both males and females have a their own fertile periods, which actually isn't so bad because there's at least four times in a year when those periods coincide. However, there's still a one-in-ten chance of conception. Even then, the rates of miscarriages are high, because there's always the chance that the female will be stabbed or struck in the abdomen during a battle._

 _Q: Female Ki’ir-ar fight while pregnant?_

 _K: Oh yes. They're even more vicious when pregnant than when they're not. Trust me, you don't want to get on the bad side of a female when she's expecting._

 _Anyway, every brood contains three to five chicks. I know, it seems like a lot but it's considered a minor miracle if more than one makes it past their second year. The average Ki’ir-ar line only has about three chicks -- and this is out of ten or twelve broods -- survive into what you would consider maturity. Even then, the life of a Ki’ir-ar is very uncertain. After all, beyond disease, and the Alliance, there's the Tsa-Eitog to consider._

 _Q: What are those?_

 _K: The natural enemy of the Ki’ir-ar. Unlike most races, the Ki’ir-ar aren't on the top of the food chain. The Tsa-Eitog are these cat-like creatures that are almost scarily intelligent. They're black, like the panthers of New Earth, but they're much longer, and sort of low to the ground, and they're extraordinarily flexible -- they're sort of what you'd imagine you'd get if you spliced a cat with a snake. They prey on our children, sneaking in during the night or grabbing the chicks from the underbrush. They kill our children because they can; not for food, or out of territorial instincts, but because they hate the Ki’ir-ar almost as much as the Alliance does. They travel in groups of three or more and these packs can take down a fully trained Akush'ai._

 _Still, their presence is necessary. Up until the Renstat landed, they were the greatest contributors to the Ki’ir-ar population control. We existed in a natural harmony with them; they kept us from over-breeding, and we did the same for them. But once the Renstat and the Alliance arrived, and the Ki’ir-ar population began to drop dramatically, that balance was destroyed. Mark my words, there's going to be a serious problem with the Tsa-Eitog on Nemai very soon._

 _Q: Did you have a, uh, mate back on Nemai?_

 _K: No. I may have been judged an adult, but I definitely didn't have enough growth on me to reproduce._

 _Q: What? But...how can you be an adult and not be able to reproduce?_

 _K: Well, to the Ki’ir-ar, age has nothing to do with adult status. Being an adult merely means that you're mentally prepared to deal with the world. Besides, Ki’ir-ar children grow quickly; they can walk, fly, and wield a weapon when they're only a year old. The only real difference between a young Ki’ir-ar and an old Ki’ir-ar is that the older Ki’ir-ar is bigger and a little more developed. So, because physical difference can't really be used as criterion for adulthood, per se, we have a different means to determine whether you're an adult. What happens is that your Aerie leader nominates you for adult status. The Flock of that region then reviews you and if you pass, then you get nominated by the Flock leader and are sent to the Ren-Aerie to be reviewed by the Flock leaders and the Marak-lai. After that, if they deem you to be an adult, all the Aeries recognize you as an adult. You can fight and you can die; you can do anything that an adult does, even if you've only been alive for a few years._


	35. Chapter 35

Date: September 29th, 10039 A.U  
Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1825 STG

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip those tubes out of his chest and _laugh_ when he dies.” Allura was a vision of a woman scorned, blue eyes brilliant with anger, voice raw from passion, hands waving violently in the air as she paced back and forth. And maybe if Keith hadn’t been listening to her rant for the past two hours it would have had more of an impact on him. As it was, he found himself growing a little more bored with each passing second.

“Allura, calm down.” Lance was rubbing his temples as he spoke, lines of worry deeply etched into his brow. “You’re not doing anything productive. We have to find a way to counter Hunk’s testimony, now. Not rant about the injustice of it all.”

“You’re right.” Allura sat down for a moment, then popped back up and began pacing again. “Still, don’t you think it’d be a nice diversion of we ripped Hunk’s lying tongue out?”

“Leave him alone, Allura. His anger is justified.” Keith’s golden talons traced strange patterns in the metal of the table top. “You don’t know the whole story. So lets just drop it and move on, all right?”

“I don’t know the story? What the fuck don’t I know? There was an accident, Hunk got left behind by accident, and now he blames you for what _he_ let happen.”

“No. That _isn’t_ the whole story.” Keith looked up, black eyes filled with a cold fire as he peered through his hair. “But it doesn’t matter right now. So. What’s the next attack?”

Allura paused, stared at the seated Ki’ir-ar, and Lance could see the wheels turn as she wondered how hard to push this point. A tense moment later, she turned away. “Ask Pidge. I just speak. He’s the brains of this whole operation.”

“Pidge?”

The silent form in the corner looked up, blinked eyes that were magnified by his glasses. “Yeah?”

“What happens next?”

Pidge shrugged. “I guess we have Lance testify now.”

“No.” Keith was shaking his head before Pidge finished speaking. “Bad idea.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?” Lance reached out, touched Keith’s shoulder. Keith turned, and Lance suddenly shivered as the full force of those black eyes was directed to him.

“No. I don’t.” Keith held up a hand, forestalling Lance’s angry reaction. “They’re going to bring up Kes, Lance. And you’re going to tell them what happened. Even if you don’t want to, they’ll get it out of you.” Lance looked away, and Keith smiled, almost kindly. “You still don’t like what I did, do you?”

“It...well, it just shocked me, Keith.” Lance looked away, face troubled. “I just don’t see why it was necessary.”

“It was. No,” Keith focused his dark eyes on Allura, “I think that the only thing left now is for me to testify. We should have just done this from the beginning, just forced them to hear me, hear what I have to say.” Keith’s eyes had taken on a strange light, sparkling in excitement, and when he smiled there was something almost playful about him. “A direct attack. That’s the only way.”

“Are you sure, Keith? Are you sure that we should do this?” Allura’s eyes were turned down in concern. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

Keith nodded slowly. “But I want the room to be clear of everyone who isn’t essential. I only want the judges, you and Swift. That’s it. I don’t want the innocent to suffer more than they have to.” Keith looked down at his hands, and then up at the three who sat before him. His eyes were glowing with some strange, inner light and it took Lance a moment to realize that it was blood lust that made Keith look so alive. “I will show them what it means to be a Ki’ir-ar. I will make them see what it is to be a slave.”

~~~

Date: September 30th, 10039 A.U  
Location: GG Headquarters, 1534 Kissinger St  
3rd floor. Suite 3116.  
Time: 1015

The world returned slowly.

First there was the smell that ever present bouquet of sweat and blood and unwashed clothes. Rank, but familiar. Then there was the sting of pain from abused knuckles. The grainy sight of the bloodied punching bag and the sand that spilled to the floor and the phantom ache of wounds never forgotten and limbs that had long been dust.

And, finally, there was Sven.

Beautiful Sven with velvet eyes so like Keith’s and worry lines etched into his brow and for one breathless, painful, heart-stopping moment Hunk had the two confused and thought that he had never betrayed his oldest friend after all.

Then the moment passed and reality set in and it was all Hunk could do to stop himself from turning around and hitting the punching bag once more. He wanted to hit the bag again and again and again, until his hands were nothing more than bloody lumps and the pain invaded him, just so that he would have something to think about other than his guilt.

It was all his fault. Everything was his fault.

“Hunk...”

“Go away Sven.” Hunk looked away from those dark, confused eyes, feigning interest in the cuts that dotted his knuckles and stained his hands with red.

“No.” Sven’s long fingers closed over his own, clasped his hands in a gentle embrace. “Hunk, stop this. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Good.” Hunk tore his hands free and turned back to the punching bag, growling low in his throat as he began abusing his hands again. “I _should_ hurt myself.”

He heard Sven sigh, the noise already distant as he once more began to slip into the narrow world of the punching bag and himself. He welcomed the descent, for it would mean an escape from the too complicated world.

“Hunk. Hunk _look_ at me!” A firm hand gripped his chin and forcefully pulled him away from the tunnel. “Hunk, I don’t understand why you’re so angry? You’ve done nothing wrong! It’s like you said, we have a responsibility to protect the Alliance from terrorists. I must admit, finding out that you sent a message to the authorities about Keith back on Arus did strike me as a little harsh at first, but -- ”

“What?” Hunk swallowed, looked at Sven -- really looked at him, not just staring over his shoulder -- for the first time since the Swede walked into the gym. “What did you say?”

“I was just saying that after I got over the shock of finding out, your message to the Alliance MPs -- ”

“But I -- Where did you find this out?” He was falling, black making his vision blur. His hands came up to grip Sven’s shoulders, hoping that the tall youth would be able to support him.

“I got a piece of paper and -- ow! Hunk, stop, you’re hurting me!” Sven whimpered as Hunk’s grip tightened and he felt the bones in his shoulders grating painfully together. He hadn’t realized Hunk was this strong -- didn’t know that those hands that brought such pleasure could bring such pain as well.

“I didn’t send -- I was -- no -- ” Hunk pulled away, lurched to a wall where he leaned like a drunk. His whole world was spinning away. He _couldn’t_ have alerted the Alliance, brought the MPs to take Keith away. Hell, he hadn’t known that Keith was a Ki’ir-ar _until_ the MPs had shown up. He certainly didn’t remember making any such call, and that thought sent him down an entirely new branch of thought, one that horrified him so thoroughly that he thought he would be sick.

What if...What if he _had_ sent that message? What if they, his masters, his creators, had turned him off, sent his body out to do his bidding with his mind still asleep? But surely they couldn’t do that, because there was enough organic material in him yet that he couldn’t be controlled so thoroughly like a puppet on string. Surely he still had control over his body, over his mind, over himself. Surely everything about him wasn’t a lie. It couldn’t be, but the only thing that could prove that was when. When was the message sent? When did Keith’s world come crashing down? He had to know.

“When?”

“What?”

“When was the message sent, Sven.”

Sven pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, smoothed it out and handed it over. “0200 hours on the 10th of July.”

Hunk nodded and accepted the paper and suddenly the vertigo that captured him melted away. It couldn’t have been him, because that was the night that he spent in the mechanics bay with Pidge, putting Red back together again after Lance got in the way of one of Allura’s water blasts during practice and shorted out Red’s engine and plunged to the ground and scared everybody to death, but mostly Keith. So it couldn’t have been him, because even _HE_ didn’t have the power to create a memory that specific. _HE_ couldn’t conjure up the sound of Pidge cursing at a stubborn transistor, or the smell of oil and fuel and sweat and the heavy spices that had flavored that night’s dinner.

He sighed and sagged against the wall and looked up at Sven with eyes so full of wonder and love that it was hard to remember how he could have been so angry at Sven before. “It wasn’t me.”

“But the code used to send the message is yours.”

“I didn’t send it.” Hunk looked down at the paper in his hand, a brief text message, sent from his personal account and suddenly something clicked. There was only one person who had the time to send that message, and who had the codes. And who knew who Hunk was, what Hunk was.

And suddenly, everything made sense, and Hunk was so mad that he slammed a fist into the wall, creating a dent and causing a thousand cracks to radiate outwards from the hole.

“Hunk!”

“That fucking bastard!”

“What? Hunk, your hand -- ” Sven tried to catch Hunk’s arm, calm him down so he could look at the mechanic’s hand, take care of the only friend he had left. But Hunk wouldn’t let him.

“That bastard! I _can’t_ believe he’s doing this! I _can’t_ believe that he’d do that to Keith!”

“Hunk, what are you talking about?”

“I’m going to rip him a new asshole, that bastard!” Hunk grabbed Sven’s hand and pulled him toward the door, a murderous rage flushing his skin. “That double-crossing, dirty, lying, manipulative, bastard!”

“Hunk, where are we going? Hunk, slow down! Hunk!”

Hunk whirled suddenly, eyes pinning Sven. “We’re going to go see the real traitor.”

“But who -- ”

“Think about it, Sven! Who’s the only person who could send a message from my account? Who’s the only person with access to all of our files, all of our histories? Who was the person who ordered us to Arus in the first place?”

Slowly realization dawned on Sven and his face transformed from confusion to anger. “You mean -- That bastard!”

Hunk nodded. “Come on. We’ve got to teach him a lesson. You don’t fuck with the Alliance and get away with it.”

Hunk smiled as he strode off on his crusade. At last, he had something to focus on other than Keith. At last he had something else to be angry at than himself.

~~~

Date: September 30th, 10039 A.U  
Day 13 of trial  
Location: Outside the Chamber of the Council of Five  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1020 STG.

Keith tried not to look at Allura as she approached the witness stand, hoping that by not looking at her, he wouldn’t feel guilty about what he was going to do to her. If he could have kept her out of this room, he would have, but he knew that that was impossible. And she _needed_ to know. If there was ever to be closure to his life, she needed to know what he had done.

“Captain Tsumetai--” they had agreed to address him as a sentient, but Keith wondered about the intelligence of that, now, in the courtroom with the glares of three powerful men burning into him, “--could you please tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Just general information. Your birthplace, your family, any background information that you can provide.”

“Very well. I was born on the first day of Janvier, 10,000 A.D. Janvier is the Nemian equivalent of January. My Aerie is -- was -- _mn'Ael-a-ben'shteof_ , which is better known as the Bloody Crags. My family...well, my family is dead, so I don’t think that they matter very much right now.”

“If you could, could you tell us about them?”

“I was the youngest of three in my parent’s third clutch, and the third surviving son in my family. My father was a Jao’xai, my mother a Kreiger. My father was something of an idealist, I must admit. He would tell stories of what life would be like when the hunting ended, and we could all live in peace again. My mother didn’t like that much. They had an argument about that the day they died. The day my Aerie died. The day that I died for the first time.”

“ _How_ did they die?”

“They were killed in an Alliance raid when I was just a little under a year old. They were killed -- as was the rest of my Aerie -- because the Alliance soldier attacked during one of my people’s festivals.” Keith stopped and looked down, tears glittering in his eyes but refusing to fall. His voice grew soft, and even in the empty courtroom it was hard to hear him. “They came to my village, death in their hands. They attacked from the sky and from the ground. They surrounded us, trapped us. My father killed my mother to save her. They beheaded him and raped her corpse anyway. They took the children away in chains. They took the adults away on carts. There was blood everywhere, and crying and screaming. My eldest sister -- one from my parent’s first brood -- covered me with some of the dead bodies to protect me, but she couldn’t keep me from seeing and hearing my people die, seeing her rape and her death. Everything was destroyed after they passed through. And they laughed. They laughed at our pain.”

Justice Giroux snorted, breaking Keith’s spell. “I refuse to sit here and listen to this...thing lie! Counselor, you are already toeing the line by asking us to let this slave testify. By the Hells, you’re toeing the line by forcing this absurd case to trial. Now, my colleagues and I have given you enough leniency already, but I will _not_ sit here a watch our judicial system be mocked even further by allowing this beast’s blatant lies be admitted as testimony. The brave men and women who fight for the Alliance would _not_ commit so obviously foul deeds, and I will not sit quietly by why this thing slanders their reputation!”

“Are these the same men and women who let children fight their battles, Your Honor?” Keith shot back. “Are these men and women the same ones who destroy entire villages without warning the inhabitants just to justify a war? I was one of those soldiers, Your Honor, for thirteen years. What those soldiers did to my village is nothing compared to what I have seen. What I have done. And every action was sanctioned by _this_ Alliance!”

“Counselor! You _will_ curb your witness or I will declare you in contempt!”

“Keith, please -- ”

“No! The truth _must_ come out! This silence has lasted too long. Can’t you hear the dead screaming for justice?”

“Counselor, please! Control your witness! Our search for the truth can’t continue if your witness refuses to control himself, continues to spout blatant falsehoods.”

“Keith -- ”

“Shut up! All of you shut up!” Keith was panting, body trembling, and Allura had a sinking feeling deep in her stomach. His skin was wavering, undulating, beating in time with his heart. “You want the truth? I’ll show you the truth. I will _force_ the truth on you!”

The trembling increased until it seemed as if Keith was shimmering in and out of reality, and suddenly Allura realized that Keith had planned this, that this was what Keith had wanted from the beginning.

“Keith, don’t! No -- ” Allura reached out hoping to stop what she knew was coming.

The air around Keith began to shimmer now, and blue-white sparks danced across his skin.

“Anai, help me!” Keith’s scream was ripped straight from his heart, a shrill cry that cut through the senses. The shimmering became more pronounced, like heat waves rising from the concrete on a hot summer day. “You. Will. See!”

And the world imploded.


	36. Interlude

_Excerpts from transcript  
Talk With the Condemned  
Subject: Keith S. Tsumetai,  
a.k.a, a'Shteru, Ki’ir-ar of Nemai_

_K: Names are very important to the Ki’ir-ar culture._

 _Q: Really?_

 _K: Oh yes. In fact, a child isn’t given a name until after its first birthday -- because until that child can fly they aren’t considered...real, I suppose. They are like the dream of a child, not tangible enough to invest training in yet, but a potential for training. The naming day is a very important day in the life of every Ki’ir-ar._

 _Q: A lot of thought must go into naming a child._

 _K: Yes. Quite often the name they are given describes them, describes their destiny, sort of. This is particularly true of their True Name._

 _Q: What’s a ‘True Name?’_

 _K: It’s the, um, secret name of a thing, I suppose. It’s the name of the...soul of the thing. Yes, I suppose that’s the closest approximation. Anyway, the thing that makes True Names so important is that knowing the True Name of anything gives you power of it. This is how the Akush’ai control the elements -- their Gods tell them the True Names of the spirits that make up the elements. See, there are True Names and then there are just any old name; to know the Name of someone is entirely different than knowing what they are called. For example, if I knew your Name, I could make you do anything I want, because by knowing your Name I could control your soul. It’s sort of like...some of your religions, I suppose. Or superstitions. It’s like how you never say the name of the evil one of whatever religion you practice because to say his or her or its name is to invite the attention of him or her or it. Or how in the old legends, the only way to banish a summoned demon would be to say its proper name because that was the only name that had power over it; to call it by any other name would just attract its attention. Which actually leads into an explanation of how we do magic; you were asking about that earlier, I believe._

 _Q: Yes._

 _K: The power of the Akush’ai all has to do with Names. An Akush’ai knows the Name of the Sun and the Sky, of Fire, Ice, Lightening, Wind -- everything except the living. Only the truly talented Akush’ai know something like the Names of the trees and the plants that grow on the earth -- and even these special Akush’ai don’t know the Names of those things that have hearts that beat and blood that runs beneath warm flesh._

 _Well, that’s not entirely true. There have been stories of those who know the secrets of every living thing; trees, animals, Ki’ir-ar, Tsa-Eitog. My people are not without their legends, not without their classical villains. There is a whole saga of an Akush’ai who could bend the wills of anyone and anything. She was quite the hero, for awhile. But, as with all who have absolute power, she became corrupt and abused her gift. She became so prideful that she even tried to control the Gods. The legends say that her death screams could be heard echoing through the mountains for generations._

 _Q: That’s...actually kind of disturbing._

 _K: Well, that’s what happens when you challenge the Gods. I must tell you, the idea of an eternally merciful God is a strange one for me. Our Gods are as strong and honorable as we are -- mercy is for those who merit it. We’d all be slain in our nests if we didn’t punish those who cannot be redeemed._

 _Q: I see. Do Ki’ir-ar have True Names?_

 _K: Of course! Everything has a True Name. Mine is Augentrost._

 _Q: Augen -- wait. Why are you telling me this?_

 _K: Because that name holds no power over me anymore. My soul has been given to Anai -- and she has given me a new Name, one that only She knows, so only She can control me. After I told my Celai the other one She gave me during a brief fit of sanity, She decided that it was best that only She knew what my soul was called. She doesn’t trust me -- and for very good reasons. So you see, it doesn’t really matter who knows the name that my soul used to be called._

 _Q: Oh. If you don’t mind my asking, does it mean anything?_

 _K: Yes. It means “by the threes.” It’s...prophetic in a way. But True Names usually are._

 _Q: In what way prophetic?_

 _K: Well, it means that everything in my life will be done in threes. And that’s very true. I have had three True Names, three regular names, three loves, three lives, broken the Three Commandments, learned the three disciplines of war. The only things that I have not done yet in three is die -- an oversight that will be quickly rectified since I’ve technically died twice -- and swear all three of the Unbreakable oaths._

 _Q: Can I ask you what your regular names were?_

 _K: Of course. My first name was Dinew, which was given to me on my first birthday -- as is customary in my culture -- by my first love. It means ‘nameless’. a’Sheteru, the name that the Alliance knows me by, was given to me by my second love. Keith was given to me by Onaa and Kyoko Tusmetai._

 _Q: Your first and second loves? Who were they?_

 _K: I...would rather not talk about them. Please, change the subject._

 _Q: All right. You mention the Three Commandments and the three oaths. Is there some significance in the number three?_

 _K: Yes, but not as much as there is in the number five. Still, three is a very important number to the Ki’ir-ar. Like you picked up on, some of our most sacred...traditions? well, that’s as good a word as any, are based on the number three._

 _Q: And what would those be?_

 _K: Well, there are three Unbreakable oaths, for one, which are as follow: Mishak son’ryou, the oath of love, Dilschaut ir’sange, the oath of blood, and ker-Anaiski, the oath of vengeance. All three oaths are extraordinarily rare -- the oath of vengeance more than the others, but none of them are particularly common. Mishak son’ryou is an oath taken by those who seek to bind their souls together forever. It’s like a...marriage vow, except a permanent one. Once you’ve sworn Mishak son’ryou, you can never love another person -- in any sexual or passionate fashion I mean -- again. It’s not an oath taken lightly, but it certainly isn’t an oath that can be refused if it’s real. The oath of blood is similar to the oath of love. It’s taken by those on the battlefield, who find themselves so in tune with each other that it’s almost like they are the same person. It’s a means by which fighters can share energy, share fear and thoughts and actions. Those who have sworn the oath of blood have a loyalty to each other so deep that it is...immeasurable. To betray your oath-mate is to...to...to betray life itself, to betray your very soul. As for the oath of vengeance -- well, that’s fairly self-explanatory._

 _Another thing that goes by threes is the Three Commandments. These are the only real ‘laws’ that apply to all the Aeries. They are as follow: Do not Destroy without reason, Do not knowingly lead your Celai to their deaths but leave them in ignorance of the mortal threat, and Do not kill one of the Marak-lai’s line. The punishment for breaking these Three Commandments is death by beheading -- and these three laws are the only laws that carry such a punishment._


	37. Chapter 37

Date: Minarvir 33rd,  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: Ruins of _mn'Ael-a-ben'shteof_  
Time: Six shadows past moon’s full rise

“Mama, wake up.”

The child who had no name shook the woman’s cold arm gently, not knowing in his innocence that she was already dead. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t wake up, why his brothers and sisters weren’t about.

“It’s time to get up, Mama.”

He didn’t understand what had happened, where everyone had gone; he was too young to have ever met death, too young to partake in the kill. He didn’t know that it was the blood of the dead that coated his naked body, turned his fuzzy, golden wings red and caked hair the color of sun burnt wheat. He was just a babe, a child that still suckled at his mother’s breast. He _couldn’t_ understand.

“Mama, please get up.”

How could he know that his mother would never wake again? How could he know that in a few hours he, too, would die?

“Mama?”

So young.

“Mama?”

So very young.

“Mama, please, I’m scared.” The boy snuffled, tears tracing a clean track down his blood stained face. “Why won’t you wake up?”

“She won’t wake up because she is dead.”

The child looked up at the woman who spoke with bright, golden eyes full of innocent trust. He didn’t know who this woman was, what the pale skin -- so white as to be almost translucent -- that was marked by the delicate tracery of blue veins portended. How could he know that this chalky, icy woman -- with hair as silver as her wings and eyes the pale, chilling blue of deep ice -- beautiful in her pale regalness, would lead ultimately to his doom? She was only another Ki’ir-ar to him, and a living one; or so it seemed. “Dead?”

“She...” here the woman paused, appeared to search for a word, voice low and full of compassion “she will sleep forever.”

“Forever?” The child looked down on his mother, one plump hand clutching her convulsively. “Mama isn’t going to wake up?”

“That’s right.” The woman smiled kindly, gently placed one white hand on the child’s bloody shoulder. The boy gasped in pain at the chill from the touch, the cold that crept into his bones. “You’re alone now, child. But you don’t have to be. Promise yourself to me and I will take care of you.”

“Who are you?”

The woman’s smile turned as cold as her touch and she drew herself up haughtily. “I am Anai.”

“No!” Innocent though the boy was, he knew enough to back away from the Vengeance Seeker. He wasn’t ready yet to swear revenge. “No! Go away! Mama, help me!”

“Your mother can’t help you now.” Anai stared coldly into the boy’s eyes, knowing that she could compel obedience from this innocent anytime she wanted. But she wanted this one to come to her on his own, to swear himself to her by his own free will.

“Go away!” The boy began to scream, voice shrill and desperate and filled with primal fear. He clung to his mother’s body eyes closed tightly against the sight of Anai, and didn’t stop screaming until the bite of a Tsa-Eitog sent him falling into darkness.

~~~

Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

It was cold beneath the earth, and the boy was afraid. He hurt from the small bites that covered his arms and legs, and wondered how much longer he could stand the dark. He was hungry and tired and thirsty. He wondered how long it would be before the Tsa-Eitog came back and ‘played’ with him some more, their hissing laughter filling his ears as he tried to get away from their sharp claws and teeth. He wondered if he would just let them kill him this time, stop playing their game, stop fighting back. He didn’t have the strength.

He just wanted to be warm and safe again.

“You know, child, there is a way for you to be free of this place.” The voice came whispering out of the darkness and the boy turned blind eyes toward the noise. “You could hurt those that hurt you.”

“Leave me alone,” the boy whimpered. “Why can’t everyone leave me alone?”

“I will not leave you here, child. You have too much potential to receive such a fate.” An unseen hand stroked the boy’s face and he turned in to it. “I care for you.”

“You...care for me?” The boy closed his eyes and gripped the invisible hand. It was warm to his touch, but that may have been because he was so cold. “Like Mama cared for me?”

“Yes. I want you to be strong, to be able to revenge yourself.”

“...revenge...” the boy sighed, hollow whisper filled with the sadness he held within his soul. There were no tears, now, when he thought of his mother; all of his tears had been shed in those first, few, terrifying moments, and now he had none left. He had nothing left. His home, his family, his life had been taken away before he had even begun to experience them, and he was empty inside, except for the hate he bore for those who had hurt him so.

A second hand ghosted over his eyes, and in the darkness he felt Anai smile.

“I’ll take care of you forever.”

“Forever?” There was a lump in his throat and the boy swallowed noisily. “Forever and ever?”

“Yes.”

He sighed again breath ghosting out, eyes closed and his head slumped forward to rest on his thin chest. “I...I’m so tired. I don’t wanna be alone anymore.”

The Goddess’ grin deepened and she gathered the still child in her cold arms. “As long as I’m here, you’ll never be alone.” She bent down and whispered into his chilled ear. “And as long as I’m here, those who have hurt you will never be safe.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, child.” There was silence and the boy worried that he had been left alone again. Then Anai spoke again and the boy felt his soul lighten to hear her voice. “Nothing except to see you happy again. Child, it need not be your fate to die here beneath the ground before you have ever had the chance to live. You can fight, child, you can rise up and revenge yourself against your enemies, revenge your family. Revenge your mother.”

“Yes...” The boy closed his eyes at that thought, remembered again his family’s screams, his mother’s lips kissing his forehead before his father killed her. He could hear the screaming again, the animal-like grunts of the wingless ones who descended on his Aerie -- the horror of that day echoed in his mind. He imagined the death of the wingless ones and the screams that tore through him lessened. “Revenge.” His tongue caressed the word, held it lovingly in his mouth.

“Think of your people’s pain, child. Think of the warmth you once knew. They have taken that warmth from you, child. They have thrust you out into the cold. But if you come with me, I’ll make you warm once more. I’ll help you revenge yourself on those who ripped the warmth of your home away from you.”

The child opened his eyes, looked up into the glowing face of the Goddess -- of _his_ Goddess. His heart beat a little faster at the thought of bringing pain to those who had injured him, and a warm flush spread through his naked body, turning his golden skin rose. The thought of their pain made him feel _good,_ but it may have just been the thought of never being alone again.

“I want revenge.” His eyes gleamed. “I want you to help me, Anai.” _I want to belong to someone again._ The air shimmered with his unspoken oath, crackling with an unknown energy.

The Goddess heard the child’s thought and chuckled at how easily the boy had been lead into her grasp. She pressed her lips to the boy’s forehead, making the boy gasp at the cold pain that burned but left no mark. “My child. My son. I’ll love you forever.”

There was a warmth deep within the boy, but he didn’t know if it was from love or hate.

“You are mine, now, my child.” Anai kissed the boy again, this time on the lips, and the boy shuddered at the contact, for it stripped his True Name from his soul and left him empty. “Xinai. My son.”

The boy shuddered again, violently, as the new Name swept through him, killing the soul that had once been known as Augentrost. He arched his back and screamed as more pain than he had ever known lanced through his body, electric energy sparking between his fingers. And when the pain stopped and he lay still and gasping on the ground, as weak as a newborn hatchling, he was no longer the same innocent child that he had been. No longer was he the golden son of the plains, skin and hair and feathers reflecting the golden-brown-amber grass that hid the prey his people hunted. Instead, he had become something dark, his hair as black as the world beneath the earth, his eyes as dark as his thoughts. He had been reborn, changed in other ways; ways that he could not name but could feel throughout his soul. There was something new within him, something warm and pulsing and filled with anger that kept time with the beating of his heart. He could feel the force of Anai within that beating core, feel the heat of her thoughts and demands warm his soul. He looked up at his Goddess with wonder in his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Anai placed one chill finger against his flushed lips and smiled.

“Hush, my child. You are still too weak. Drink this and gain strength.” Using one icy talon, Anai cut her wrist and her pale red blood oozed out of the thin cut to snake lazily down her palm. She placed her fingers against the newly reborn boy’s lips, and raised his head. “Drink my son.”

And as the boy drank the blood of the vengeful Goddess, Anai smiled, cruel and exultant.

~~~

Date: Telan 6th  
124th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _Rein-Aerie_  
Time: 2 shadows before sun’s rise  


It was Getraut and Jostyn who found him, small and cold and naked, wings bloody -- but too bloody to just be his blood -- and fuzzy with down and golden beneath the rusty flakes. The betrothed pair brought him into the Aerie, warmed him before the fire, fell in love with his dark, reflective eyes and soft speech and smooth skin.

But only Getraut noticed that he never smiled. And in his mind, Getraut would always remember him as the boy with bloody wings. And he was a little worried about this bloodied winged child, and what he would grow up to be.

~~~

Date: Janvier 14th,  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _Rein-Aerie,_ Marak-lai’s chambers  
Time: Two shadows past sun’s peak

“It’s love at first sight and that’s the problem.” Getraut, youngest son of al’Joran-thegn, could see the stars from where he lay, little pinpricks in the blue-black sky and framed by the stone through which they peeked. “How can you argue with love at first sight?”

Chi’el shrugged, his powerful shoulders surging and rippling not unlike a mountain range during an earthquake. “I still don’t see the problem, Getraut. You have a greater claim to Jostyn than this nameless upstart. She has been your intended ever since the two of you survived your first flight. Polnira the Seeress prophesied that the two of you would unite in marriage. How can something as foolish as love possibly change that fact?”

“Chi’el, love changes _everything._ You have no beauty in your soul, my friend, if you can’t understand that.” Getraut sighed and rolled carefully onto his stomach, resting his narrow chin on his folded hands. His silver-grey wings unfurled slightly, feathers shimmering in the starlight. From their perch in the mouth of the highest entrance in the _Rein-Aerie_ , Getraut could see almost all of the large alpine valley that lay hidden in the imposing circle of the Aerie’s mountains -- and he could see the nameless boy who had stolen his intended’s heart. “Love...love is more powerful than anything else in this world.”

Chi’el snorted. “Well, Getraut, I’ll leave such things to you. I’m nothing more than a simple _Kreiger._ Love and the like mean little to me. Force -- now _that’s_ something I can understand. You should just take her, Oja. She is honor bound to marry you.”

“Mmm. No. I would never do that, Chi’el. She has found love. She should be happy.” Getraut’s keen grey eyes focused on his intended, but more on the nameless boy. His stomach tightened as he watched them walk through the snow, and he made a small noise of need. Chi’el grunted and placed one heavy hand on Getraut’s shoulder in wordless comfort. Getraut smiled, then wondered what his stalwart friend would do if he knew that it was Jostyn he was jealous of and the ease at which she could intimately touch the nameless youth -- that _he_ wanted to be the one holding the boy’s hand, marveling at his black hair and staring into his depthless black eyes.

He wondered what Chi’el would do if he knew that it was Getraut who had fallen in love.

~~~

Date: Janvier 26th,  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _al’Shodar Abar_  
Time: Six shadows past sun’s rise

They had named him Dinew and by ‘they’, he meant ‘she’. Jostyn. The new center of his universe. The one who had been with him on his first kill.

It had been some sort of lizard-like creature, one that walked upright and hissed out the harsh words that plagued his memory and destroyed his sleep. And suddenly he was scared, the child called Dinew; he, who had escaped from the Tsa-Eitog’s lair, who had flown across an ocean on wings that weren’t ready, who had survived the cold of winter and the loss of family and the pain of learning the ways of Kreiger and Akush’ai in just a year when it normally took five -- and learned the lessons so well that he had outstripped his teachers. He was scared, and Jostyn sensed it and told him that _it was all right, he didn’t have to do this right now, if he wasn’t ready._

The thing was, he was ready. He was very ready. It was just that his bloodlust was so powerful that it frightened him.

He didn’t even remember attacking, just the feel of the thick branch as he pushed off and the rush of air under his wings, air that tugged at his hair and his skin and made his eyes tear slightly and threaded through his feathers, and then a startled scream -- two startled screams, really -- and then he was sitting in a clearing, covered in blood and suddenly he was back in his Aerie asking his mother to wake up again.

Except this time there was Anai whispering in his head to savor the revenge, to savor the feeling of his enemies blood and when he licked his lips and tasted the ironhotsalty tang, he shuddered with pleasure. It was so _good._ So incredible, better than anything he had ever experience before. Better than the warmth of belonging to a Celai. And he looked up into Jostyn’s eyes, words crowding the tip of his tongue, words to try and explain how it felt, explain how the blood and the revenge and the joy of battle all melded into something beautiful. Except Jostyn had a look of horror on her face, and Getraut somehow knew that something _bad_ had happened, even though he wasn’t there to see Dinew do anything, and a confused, frightened wondering came to them both through the bond of the Celai that they shared, and he tried to reassure them that he was the same person that he had always been -- because he was, and this was just another facet of him.

But Jostyn didn’t want to be alone with him anymore; and he felt the startled, frightened jerk of Getraut trying to pull away, trying to break the bond of the Celai when he tried to explain.

He wondered why they didn’t understand.


	38. Interlude

Interlude  


_Excerpts from transcript  
Talk With the Condemned  
Subject: Keith S. Tsumetai,  
a.k.a, a'Shteru, Ki’ir-ar of Nemai_

_Q: How do the Ki’ir-ar deal with death?_

 _K: Which part of death? The dying or the aftermath of dying?_

 _Q: Any of it. All of it._

 _K: Well, when it comes to dying, we Ki’ir-ar tend to die with great aplomb, a great deal of stoicism. We face death squarely, no shirking, no hiding, no pleading with k'Elava, the Dark Angel and messenger of Arail, Lord of Death. We are not afraid of death because death frees us of our mortal shells and lets us become one with the world. In death we become even more of life, one with all that surrounds us, for our bodies become one with the earth and our souls one with the wind. The bodies of the dead are not buried beneath the ground but left to become part of the world naturally; they are bathed and anointed with an oil that stops the stench of decomposition, however, because nobody really wants to live next to rotting corpses. But we try to keep it as natural as possible._

 _Q: If the Ki’ir-ar don’t fear death, then why is the punishment for breaking one of the Three Commandments death?_

 _K: Because in that case, the death is not honorable. The punishment for breaking one of the Three Commandments is, as I said, to be beheaded at the Rein-aerie, usually by those whom you have wronged, or by a pair of executioners appointed by the Marak-lai. After the beheading, however, the head and body of the Kosei-asaka -- the lawbreaker -- is taken to Oka’tsho, which is a volcano near the Rein-aerie, and thrown into the fire, along with the axe that was used to behead the Kosei-asaka; every execution there must be a newly forged weapon, which is created through a fairly complex ritual. What makes this death so horrific is that through this method the Kosei-asaka can never become one with the world; the peace of unity is denied to them._

 _What also makes this punishment particularly painful for the Kosei-asaka is the knowledge that their Death Song will be filled only with their crimes, and there will be no entreating the Gods to accept their soul and make it one with the wind. All their good deeds will be overshadowed by their actions, and their fall from grace will be preserved forever in the Memory Song. Their name will be forever tainted, and none will use it again; they will be referred to only as Kosei-asaka. They will bring shame to their family, and there is nothing that they can do to bring that lost honor back._

 _Q: What are the Death Song and Memory Song?_

 _K: The Death Song is a combination of things, really. It is both a story and a prayer: the chronicling of the departed's life, the remembering of great deeds, and a prayer to the Gods to make the departed one with all. It is sung after any battle where there have been deaths, and for those who have been taken to the Shi’bans -- the deportation sites for Training Centers; once you have entered a Shi’ban, you are considered dead by the Ki’ir-ar. It is sung after the body has been bathed and anointed, usually accompanied by a feast. Unfortunately, because the Alliance has destroyed so many Aeries and taken so many of our young before they could live -- sometimes before they could be named -- the Death Song isn’t sung for every one who has died. This is why we have the Memory Song, which is like the Death Song, but not really. Instead of remembering and chronicling a single person, the Memory Song remembers and immortalizes all who have died. But the Memory Song is more than that, for the Memory Song is the history of the Ki’ir-ar, from the First to the present. Everything that has happened is preserved, taught to all Jao’xai, and the entire history is sung during Xia’tian’sho, the Festival of Summer, so that all Ki’ir-ar may know their past. The deeds of the great heroes are remembered and preserved, the tragedies that have befallen our race, and the lineage of every Ki’ir-ar to fly beneath Nemai’s sky. The Gods themselves help crate the Memory Song, by watching over the doings of all the Aeries and then conveying those actions to the Jao’xai._

 _Q: I thought only the Akush’ai communicated directly with the Gods._

 _K: Directly, yes. But all Ki’ir-ar can speak with the Gods, although only when they sleep. Or rather, the Gods can speak to them._

 _Q: So do you speak to Anai in your dreams or do you communicate with her directly?_

 _K: A little of both, actually. But Anai only talks to me in my sleep when she can’t talk to me when I’m awake._

 _Q: What do you dream of, if Anai doesn’t speak to you in your dreams?_

 _K: Dream of?_

 _Q: Yes. Ki’ir-ar do dream, don’t they?_

 _K: Yes, they do. Let’s see...Well, I dream of many things. Sometimes I dream of my son. I miss him._

 _Q: This isn’t a child you had back on Nemai, is it?_

 _K: Oh no. This is a child of the Alliance. Lance -- my ex-wife’s cousin -- is taking care of him for me. It’s just...well, I haven’t seen my son for a few years now. Lance took him...somewhere. I’m not sure where, exactly. I think that it was to protect him from those who would kill him because he is my son. A half-Ki’ir-ar child._

 _Q: What else do you dream of?_

 _K: Well, I dream of my old Celai, Jostyn and Getraut. I dream of al’Shodar Abar -- the city of trees._

 _Q: City of trees? I thought your people didn’t have cities._

 _K: Well, al’Shodar Abar really isn’t a city city. I mean, the buildings do look like the sort of buildings you would be used to, but they’re more like...tree houses than real buildings. And there are no roadways, or bridges or the like -- to reach each building you must fly. But al’Shodar Abar isn’t a city like you think of cities because those who live there aren’t like those who live in a normal Aerie. They’re more like soldiers living in a barrack. Which is basically what al’Shodar Abar is. It’s the home for all of the members of Jin’an -- the resistance fighters. These are the Ki’ir-ar that most of the news holos are about. The members of Jin’an are the Ki’ir-ar who actively fight back against the Alliance. I must admit that our Marak-lai is something of a pacifist. That is, he hopes that if we all pull back, content ourselves to living in the Rein-Aerie and the surrounding mountains we’ll be left alone. He believes that there has been enough bloodshed, and enough lost Ki’ir-ar lives. He just wants the killing to stop, and there are many who agree with this point of view; as I’ve said, Ki’ir-ar love to fight, but we dislike killing. There is more honor in the touch than in the kill._

 _Those who belong to Jin’an believe that the only way to win is to kill off the Alliance. They -- and I was among them -- believe that if the Alliance wants a war, then we’ll give them a war. al’Shodar Abar is the base camp of Jin’an; most of the Zhiyu live in al’Shodar as well as the weapon-makers. There’s even a sort of Breshav-Aerie set up in al’Shodar as well, because the Marak-lai won’t grant adult status to those who would use their training to wage war on the Alliance._

 _Q: Speaking of war, what is the Ki’ir-ar term for war?_

 _K: War._

 _Q: But that’s the --_

 _K: I know. The Ki’ir-ar have no word for war._

 _Q: How is that possible? If the Ki’ir-ar love to fight as much as you say they do, how can there be no term for war?_

 _K: Because though the Ki’ir-ar fight, there has never been war on Nemai until the Alliance came. We have a hundred, thousand words for battle, for fighting for honor, for fighting itself. But there has never been a battle so grand that it could be considered a war. We have never sustained a grudge long enough to escalate into war. We have never killed enough to constitute a war._

 _Q: I see. Tell me, do you ever dream about the battles you have fought?_

 _K: Sometimes. But really only those that occurred after my...transformation._

 _Q: Why?_

 _K: Because those are the only battles that I feel guilty about the deaths of those who weren’t Ki’ir-ar. I often dream of the innocents I killed, the victims of my orders._

 _Q: You don’t feel guilty about your victims prior to your change?_

 _K: No. I feel no more guilt than those who have killed my people do. There’s a difference between the deaths of those who have done you no harm and the deaths of those whose very presence threatens you. Besides, to the Ki’ir-ar, those who are from the Alliance are nothing more than animals. Dangerous, brutal, vicious animals._

 _Q: Now just a --_

 _K: Because you are animals. Only animals would use the find-and-destroy methods that this Alliance seems so fond of. Only animals would attack the young, the sick, the old and infirm. Only animals would delight in the suffering of the wounded, in their supremacy over others. Only animals would attack without provocation, kill those who are only there to help, strive for the total eradication of those that oppose them, destroy without thought or need -- why do you think my people have declared it death to all those who destroy without need? You are all animals, and the worst kind; animals made mad with an incurable sickness, animals who are fit only for death. Only rabid animals -- mad animals -- attack with the blind ferocity that the Alliance exhibits._

 _It’s not so pleasant on the other side of the fence, is it?  
_


	39. Chapter 39

Date: Ma’ain 1st  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _al’Shodar Abar_  
Time: Moon rise

Winter was a bad time for the _Jin’an_ of _al’Shodar --_ then again, it was a bad time for all Ki’ir-ar who didn’t live in the tropics. The cold crept into their hollow bones and took up an almost permanent residence, and the snow that sifted soundlessly from the overcast sky weighed down their wings and soaked through the feathers of those not equipped to deal with water. For a people whose customary clothing consisted of little more than thin pants and a sleeveless vest -- and for some, no more than a loincloth and a weapon’s harness -- the cold weather could be fatal, and the hatchlings were kept wrapped up in their parent’s wings and buried under soft cloth and down.

The only good thing that could be said about the winter was that it was a slow time, with only a few raids taking place during the five long, dark months. So most of the _Jin’an_ spent their days and nights huddled close together in their wooden huts, sitting close to the glowing fires which snapped and popped, sparks leaping up to mimic the stars, showering those who gathered near it for warmth. In the distance, Chi’el and Hanai made plans for the morning’s raid. It should be bloodless, a quick hit for metal and food and maybe some blankets to line the nests and protect the hatchlings, and then back to _al Shodar._ Their voices carried well in the still night, but none of the Ki’ir-ar who sat watchful and awake paid their leaders much attention, knowing that the plan created tonight would be but a guideline, Chi’el and Hanai too experienced to expect that any Ki’ir-ar would do anything other than what they pleased.

Dinew listened to them with half an ear, the rest of his attention focused on the soft voice of his ‘mother’ that whispered in his head.

 _You were meant to rule them,_ Anai whispered seductively. _You were_ made _to rule them. Under your leadership, the enemies of the Ki’ir-ar would wish they had never been born._

 _What must I do?_ Dinew asked, trusting in his Goddesses’ guidance.

 _Be patient for now. Do as these others say. But do it better than them, for you_ are _better than they are. You are stronger, faster, smarter than they could ever be, because I have made you so. Prove yourself in battle, prove that they_ need _you to lead them, need your guidance. But do not trust them, for they are inferior to you and would hurt you if they knew the truth._

 _I will do as you say, Mother._

 _Good. I love you, my son._

Ghostly lips pressed themselves to Dinew’s forehead and the child shivered and huddled closer into the warm curve of Jostyn’s body, head cocked and staring off at something that no one else could see. The fire flickered in his black eyes, flames reflected back from velvet darkness. His lips moved every so often, and sometimes a small, frightening grin would flit across his face.

He could see his enemies in the darkness, see those who had killed his family and his home and he promised them that he would exact his revenge.

Their deaths would be sweet.

~~~

Date: b’Irtsu 14th  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _al’Shodar Abar_  
Time: Five shadows past sun’s peak

Getraut wondered, sometimes, if the boy was mad, and then wondered if he might not be mad as well, for following this child, this man-boy who was only a year old and yet had more notches on his belt than Chi’el, who was fast approaching his hundredth year. He wondered what his father thought of him, out here among the rebels, joined by the bond of Celai to his former betrothed and this mad child, for the child had to be mad if he was able to keep his innocence after all the blood he had spilled. He wondered what Jostyn thought of him, swearing _Dilschaut ir’sange_ with the boy that the both loved.

Getraut sighed and looked at Dinew who sat across from him, black eyes bright, smiling and happy. The golden-green light of the noonday sun shifting down through the tree’s spring leaves highlighted the bronze of his skin and the copper of his feathers. In that moment, it was hard to believe that Dinew was a killer. Not when the child was caught in a pool of light that brought out the roundness to his cheeks, the baby fat that made him just a little pudgy, the fuzzy down that still coated the underside of his wings.

“Now what, Getraut?” Even his voice was young, clear and high and filled with the gold of the plains where the child had been born. “Are we going to finish the rite?”

The young prince smiled at his Celai member and carefully lifted the heavy ceremonial knife; how could he possibly begin to summon up the strength to refuse the child anything when a single smile brought him crashing to his knees? “We must each make a cut on our palms from the heel to the pad of the middle finger. Then we dip a talon in the blood, clasp our hands so that our blood mingles, and draw here,” Getraut tapped the slight swell of his sternum, “the symbol of Hasos. This will signal us out to Him and He will then create _Dilschaut ir’sange._ Then we say: _a Hasos ta’ tir’nan._ And we’re done.”

“Okay.” Dinew smile broadened and he took up the knife and sliced his palm. The smell of blood thickened the air and Getraut opened his mouth slightly, breathing in the heady aroma, wanting to take in as much of this child as he could. Dinew passed the knife back and Getraut sliced his own palm. The blood welled up hot and cold and thick. Getraut used his free hand to undo the wooden buttons of his vest and pull it apart, arching back slightly and pulling his wings back to thrust his sternum forward. He clasped Dinew’s hand in his own, their blood mingling and making their palms slick, sliding down their forearms in intricate crimson trails, subject only to nature. One golden talon came up to gently touch Dinew’s hairless chest and he shivered as the youth did the same, shuddering in almost orgasmic pleasure under the light touch of Dinew’s talon tracing the serpentine pattern of Hasos the Ever-Watching. The design burned his skin, a strange mixture of pleasure-pain that made him open his mouth even further and squeak out the tension that gathered in the pit of his stomach.

 _“A Hasos ta’ tir’nan.”_

The day dimmed at the words and suddenly all that Getraut could see was Dinew, a shining light in a world of darkness. And he knew, then, that the oath of blood wasn’t the only thing that he swore that day, for he knew that there would be no other -- could _never_ be another -- like Dinew. There would never be another person who captured his attention, his soul, so completely. And he knew that the oath of blood was nothing more than a pretense, nothing more than a sad attempt to capture just a little of Dinew, take back something to fill up the emptiness that replaced everything that he had been, everything that he had given to this strange child.

He was ruined in love forever, bound to one who he could never be with, made childless by a child; and there was something painfully ironic in that.

~~~

Date: Shon-an 3rd  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: Foothills of _ben’in a-Kar_  
Time: Three shadows past sun’s peak

It was three days after Chi’el died in a raid that Dinew was made the new leader of the _Jin’an,_ partly because the blindest _Akush'ai_ could see that this child was destined for great things, and partly because of a bright afternoon two weeks prior to the failed raid when Dinew herded a hoard of hatchlings -- some of whom were older than he and many of them taller -- who had been captured in the last Alliance raid and sung over and mourned, into the camp. He was smiling and happy and innocent and beautiful. Nobody had the heart to tell him that the children he had just rescued were already dead.

He cried when he found out that they could only save one. And his eyes burned with an unimaginable hate. He needed to feel their blood between his fingers, pay them back for every life they had taken.

Which was why they were out here on the plains, in the middle of the day when the sun was white with heat. The sun beat down on their unprotected heads, and Getraut knew that if they lay out in the sun many more days, his hair would be as golden-brown as the long grass they lay in. His head hurt from the heat and he could only muster enough self disgust to give a long sigh at the memory of how easily he had been convinced that this -- this lying and spying and waiting which wasn’t real fighting, wasn’t blood and sweat and pain and joy -- was a good idea.

 _“It’ll just be a little recon, Getraut. I just want to take a look,” Dinew had pleaded eyes big and bright and Getraut knew that he saw the tiniest gleam of cool, calm calculation in the back of that gaze. He was being manipulated and by an expert it seemed. But even that knowledge made it impossible to say no. The boy had him -- them, for Jostyn was just as kept as he -- wrapped around one, small, thin finger._

Getraut sighed again, and carefully rolled onto his back. He stared at the perfect sky from between the bleached stalks that waved in the breeze and managed a small, self-deprecating smile. The longer he spent in this child’s company, the more certain he became that he was truly a masochist. Or if not a masochist, than so deeply in love that he had forgotten himself.

Dinew shot a quick glare at the cloud-gazing Getraut, knowing even as he did so that it was only this place that made him nervous. Getraut’s soft sigh would never be picked up by the men below them, lost in the sounds of the wingless children floating through the air. Nor would he be spotted because his black hair made him stand out in the ocean of golden grass. It was just easier to worry about such trivial things than to remember vague memories that were summoned by this place. Better he snap at his companions than remember the curve of a mountain as it appeared from the air as he soared over it strapped to his mother’s warm belly; or the smell of the grass and dirt that brought to mind the sound and touch of his siblings as they mock-fought on this very spot.

But how could he forget when the thought of revenging their deaths occupied his entire being?

“Dinew?” Jostyn’s soft touch and softer voice snapped Dinew back to the present, and the child shook himself, sloughing off the memories as easily as if they were irritating drops of water. “Dinew, are you all right?”

He nodded brusquely and winnowed forward through the grass rather than looking into Jostyn’s worried eyes. He didn’t trust his voice to be free of the tremble of pain -- a weakness that must be lanced from his being as soon as possible -- that ate at his soul. Instead, he peered over the edge of the cliff and watched the Aerie of the wingless ones, squat buildings in a rigid square of bare, dusty earth. They were very strange, these invaders. He didn’t understand half of what they did, didn’t understand the large, metal beasts that they rode in. And he wondered, for a little while, at the apparent lack of supervision for their hatchlings. Then he realized that it was because these hatchlings would never experience the painful fear of a raid, or the emptiness that came in the _Shi’bans._

Dinew decided that he hated the children even more than he hated their parents.

“What d’you suppose those are?” Jostyn whispered in his ear, breath sweet from the grass she had been chewing on. “The little black things. The ones with the tethers ‘round their necks.”

Dinew shrugged and wriggled over the edge until the top of his torso was hanging off the edge and his wings were unfurled and stretched out to give him balance. He hooked one hand into the rough rock of the cliff’s face and shaded his eyes with the other, gazing at the wingless ones. The small black things resolved themselves into animals, thin and serpentine and oh so familiar.

“Tsa-Eitog,” he growled, lips pulled back in a snarl of pure hate as he gazed down on his primal enemies. His blood burned and he tensed his body, ready to spring forward off the cliff and tear into his foes. Hate and anger made his world red and it was only the icy touch of his goddess on his soul that kept him from exacting his vengeance now.

 _Wait, my dearest. Wait and have patience and I will lead you to your revenge. This world will become red with the blood of our enemies; the earth will groan under the weight of their bones._

Dinew shuddered and relaxed and the world was once more drenched in the golden light of the afternoon sun. He blinked, twice, and refocused his gaze on the dark forms below. The wingless ones were being lead by the Tsa-Eitogs, apparently unconcerned with their proximity to these ruthless warriors. They would lean down and stroke the heads of the Tsa-Eitog who would lean into the wingless ones hands and arch their backs and twine about the wingless ones legs. Dinew had seen such actions before, seen it in the small animals the wingless ones kept in their homes, soft pampered worthless creatures that wouldn’t last a single day outside of their cages.

But why were the Tsa-Eitogs submitting to this...degradation? Why did these proud, powerful warriors allow the wingless hatchlings to crawl over them, tug at their ears and tails?

Dinew got his answer a few minutes later when one of the Tsa-Eitogs that were being lead about on tethers lifted its head and looked out to the plains beyond the city’s boundary of bare dirt. It rose up onto its hind legs, determined and resistant of its wingless owner’s attempts to drag it onward, and Dinew could tell that it was scenting the air even from this distance. For a moment Dinew experienced a chill of irrational fear that it was his scent that had carried down to the cat-like creature; but that moment passed quickly because he was upwind and there was no way the Tsa-Eitog could have scented him. But that didn’t explain the Tsa-Eitog’s behavior.

 _So what -- There._

A herd of jiran, grazing not far from the wingless ones Aerie. And in the tall grass upwind a bit, a Ki’ir-ar out hunting, so intent on his prey that he didn’t even realize his danger. But just as Dinew pinpointed the object of the Tsa-Eitog’s attention, so too did the Tsa-Eitog. The creature let out a shrill, undulating cry, one that made Dinew shiver with half-forgotten torments. From every corner of the wingless ones' Aerie came answering cries and, as one, the Tsa-Eitogs broke free from their confinement, streaming out in a black wave toward the unknowing Ki’ir-ar. Their wingless masters called out to each other in their guttural language, words unintelligible to Dinew and his Celai but their tone clear; they knew an enemy lay in the grass. The mothers herded the wingless children into the small, ugly buildings and the men grabbed their guns and followed the Tsa-Eitogs.

“We must go. Now.” Dinew pushed off of the cliff, snapping his wings in as he streaked downward, a slim arrow of flesh and blood. He caught the updraft at the last possible second, soaring effortlessly up into the blue sky, arms and legs held in tight against his body. Getraut and Jostyn quickly followed and the trio made their way up into the high, thin, cold, burningly clear part of the sky, small dots of black to the eyes of those on the ground.

“We must warn the hunter,” Jostyn sang out, trilling voice carrying easily.

Dinew nodded curtly, and the threesome wheeled about and dove, graceful and beautiful and deadly. They skimmed high above the heads of the men and the Tsa-Eitogs, silent and unnoticed. The trio soon outstripped the grim mob, easily reaching the lone hunter. Their shadows passed over the grazing jiran, scattering the swift-footed beasts and getting the attention of crouching Ki’ir-ar. The young hunter leapt up, cursing the trio that now circled above him.

“May your wings be infested with fleas! May Jiroch cause the wind to fail you and the rain weigh down your wings!”

“Not now, _Aedel_ ,” Getraut called out. “There are wingless ones not far behind us and they hunt you. Fly, Brother, fly!”

The hunter looked out over the fields, face pale and eyes wide as he suddenly realized the danger. He swallowed and began to run, loping strides kicking up dust behind him. Then he leapt high into the air, his wings stretched out wide, beating quickly, muscles straining as he became airborne. Blood infused his skin, turning the golden flesh a pale orange. He rose into the clear sky, and at his flight the wingless ones that pursued him cried out in anger and fear.

“Quickly, _Aedel_ ,” Dinew growled, his own wings pumping hard and carrying him up and up into the blue expanse. Jostyn and Getraut followed him close, closely tailed by the lone hunter. The quartet headed for the sun, eyes closed against the light, the world becoming smaller and smaller as they broke free of the pull of gravity.

~~~

Date: Shon-an 3rd  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _al’Shodar Abar_  
Time: Moon’s peak

The whole of _al’Shodar_ sat around the large bonfire, listening gravely to Jostyn and Getraut as they revealed what many had already begun to expect. A slow, but steadily growing, grumble of anger rose from the gathered Ki’ir-ar at the confirmation that the Tsa-Eitog led the wingless ones to their Aeries, to their children. And that was good, for the time for outrage and the swearing of retribution was now, in the darkness before the fire, when the moon pulled at their blood. Better that the anger be released at once, vented and so lanced from the soul. Better to give in to the fury as it came than let it eat away at the soul, grow cancerous and dangerous. To bottle rage was to take a step down the path of Anai.

But for the one who had already suckled at the Destroyer’s breast, that danger was a moot point. Indeed, he was well down the path of Vengeance, reliving again all the grievances that he had sworn to avenge.

In the darkness of tree and night, Dinew sat brooding, fingers tracing the imagined wounds of another night in another time. He could smell the damp earth around him and the blackness of the night seemed to be the blackness of the world beneath the earth. He shivered, imagining that he felt the scrape of tooth against his skin.

 _What troubles you, Dearest one?_ Anai’s burning touch replaced the memory-pain of the Tsa-Eitog’s teeth and Dinew shivered and closed his eyes.

 _My enemies have joined forces, Mother. The Tsa-Eitog lead the wingless ones to the nests of my people, help the wingless ones destroy us. They must suffer as the wingless ones do, but how can I defeat them? I cannot come close enough to strike them down; they can kill us without coming close. They have weapons that shoot a burning light. Help me, Mother. Help me with my vengeance._

 _Hush my son. Be calm. I will teach you the names of the world. I will teach you how to call fire from the ground and death from the sky. I will teach you how to Name the spirits, how to call upon the world to help you._ Anai brushed her hand across Dinew’s forehead and the child almost cried out from the pain, but bit his tongue instead until he bled. _You are blessed, my son, my dearest, my precious one. Together we will crush any who stand up against you. With me on your side, you will be invincible. Listen close. The secrets of the world are now open to you._

Dinew opened his soul to Anai and then he did scream as the knowledge of the world streamed through his body, burned through his veins. His eyes rolled back and he seized, muscles spamming as pure energy, pure divine energy replaced his blood and flowed through his heart and his brain, scoring his bones, marking him for what he was. And the fire of that knowledge burned away a little something of himself, something that was pure and innocent because it was impossible to know the thoughts of a tree and the feeling of water smoothing and scraping and dissolving over years and years of time and still be the same.

The spasms were slow to stop, and even after his entire body stopped seizing, bits of Dinew still twitched and trembled. He opened his eyes -- somehow blacker than before, darker, harder -- and smiled, small and toothy. He could feel the power tingling at the ends of his fingers, feel the knowledge like a heavy weight in his head. He could _do_ things. He could change the world.

He could have his revenge.

~~~

Date: Shon-an 4th  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: Badlands  
Time: Before sun’s rising

Dinew left _al’Shodar_ before the moon had begun to give way to the sun. Roused by the excitement that came screaming through the bond of the Celai, Getraut and Jostyn followed, confused and sleepy. The trio flew through the misty night, gliding above silver clouds and below the pale moon, dim shadows that skimmed over the hollows and valleys of the clouds. They raced the sun, heading ever westward, deep into the _ben’in a-Kar_ until they reached the Badlands.

This was no man’s land, a barren place of rock and thick, poisonous, yellow mud. Only the brave -- or the incredibly stupid -- came to the Badlands; it was all too easy to become lost in the desolate plains, particularly during the day when a thick haze rose from the small pools of bubbling mud. Their wings swept of clouds of thick dust and, even though they landed far from the edge of the mud flats, the air burned their lungs and brought tears to their eyes.

Yawning and blinking their eyes against the pull of sleep that crept over them now that they were out of the biting cold of air and surrounded by the oven-like heat of the Badlands, Getraut and Jostyn found boulders to perch on as far from the yellow plain as they could get. They had been promised that something special was to happen here, something wonderful that would help their cause. But what could the Badlands possibly have to offer other than a slow and painful death?

Dinew left his Celai on the rocks and headed out onto the desolate mudflats. He could feel the spirits even here. They were different from the spirits of the forest, angry and destructive instead of deliberate and healing. He could feel them coming to him, and he threw back his head at the pleasure of their hate, bathing his face in the pale rose light of the newborn sun. He laughed as the spirits came at his call, and twirled in a twisted parody of a giddy lover caught in the rain.

The energy filled him, made the tips of his fingers tingle, hurt him as much as it pleasured him, shook his body until he felt that he would fly apart. He had to release it. The energy fled from his body and back into the world in the form of fire and thunder, earthquakes and explosions. The air about Dinew became scorched and smelled of burning death. The ground beneath him shook and lighting streaked from the clear sky to strike the ground, creating huge craters in the dust. Softly, as if from a distance, Dinew could hear the startled cries of Getraut and Jostyn as the boulders they sat on danced and jumped. He laughed again, giddy and wild.

When the world calmed down and the Dinew managed to stop the spirits and call them back, he turned to his Celai, flushed and excited. Getraut and Jostyn stared at him, a little afraid, but mostly shocked.

“What?” Dinew smiled, innocent and vulnerable. “What’s wrong? Isn’t this great? Do you realize what we can do now? We’ve neutralized the wingless ones weapons advantage! We can defeat them! Isn’t...isn’t that wonderful?”

The pair looked down at the mud flats, at each other, at everything except Dinew. Confused, the child finally looked about himself. He stood on an island of yellow earth, surrounded by destruction on a scale almost unimaginable. In the span of five minutes, Dinew had reduced the Badlands into chaos. Rocks buried beneath the mud since the day the world began were suddenly exposed to the sun. Creatures of the earth and darkness writhed and died in the light. Craters pocked the ground and some of the pools of mud had slipped over their boundaries and oozing rivers made their wending ways towards new hollows. The few stunted trees that had thrust their way towards the sun were now felled, roots exposed to the dust filled air.

Dinew looked back at his Celai, and now fear was beginning to creep into his soul. They wore disturbed faces, wary faces, and there was a worry in Getraut's eyes. Dinew opened his mouth to explain, but nothing would come out.

“Dinew...Do not...You can’t...” Getraut trailed off and looked around himself with sad, strange eyes. Through their bond of blood, Dinew could feel his Oja’s pain, taste his fear. It sickened him.

“We should go,” Jostyn said, voice subdued but still thunderous in the silence left in the aftermath of Dinew’s demonstration.

Dinew nodded and the threesomes launched themselves into the air. But Dinew trailed behind Getraut and Jostyn, mind in turmoil, suddenly doubting this gift he had been given. He had meant to test out his power -- but not like this. He had never meant to destroy.

 _But that is the price of power, dearest one. How else will you stop your enemies unless you destroy them?_

 _But..._ A small part of Dinew still protested this use of force.

 _‘But’ nothing. This is the way it must be done. This is the only way._

~~~

Date: Xo’ash 16th  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: Plains of Khal  
Time: Two shadows past sun’s rise

They perched in the yellowing trees, dark forms in the darker shadows. There were close to fifty Ki’ir-ar hidden among the leaves, young and old, experienced and green fledglings fresh from the nest -- the sum and total of all fighting Ki’ir-ar that _Jin’an_ had to offer. Though not an army in the true sense of the term, they were there to be commanded and all eyes were trained on the small boy that stared dazedly up at the sky.

Dinew stood by himself at forest’s edge, unconcerned with the piercing eyes that were trained on his still form. Nothing could ruin the moment for him, nothing could dampen the feeling of triumph deep in his soul. He knew they would win today; he knew that this would be the day that forever secured his place in the annals of his people.

“Dinew.” The boy turned at the soft voice that called out his name, smiling broadly when he saw it was Jostyn who spoke. “I think...I think that you should make a speech. Curiosity has brought them here; you must make them stay.”

Dinew nodded and turned to his assembled people. Something deep within him welled up and he knew that he could make them his. Pulling himself up to his full height, unfurling his wings to their full length so that the strong morning light caught the gold of his feathers and made them shine and gleam, he looked the part of the commander despite the roundness of his limbs and face. Raising his voice, deepening it as much as his youth would allow, he began to speak.

“My people! Today is a glorious day, a day made for battle. Today we will strike a true blow against the wingless ones. No more shall we skulk in the shadows, hiding in the clouds and trees like cowards. No longer will our attacks be limited to lightning strikes, tiny skirmishes with the patrols that invaded our forest. Today we fight back! Today we reclaim our honor! Today we prove our worth as warriors! We shall win this day and our victory will take us one wing beat closer to the day when our children will be free from the threat of the _Shi’bans_. Today we reclaim our rightful place, our place as the supreme warrior. Today the wingless ones will learn the true meaning of fear!”

His voice rose and fell in a mesmerizing cadence, completely capturing the hearts of the Ki’ir-ar who watched. He called to something deep within the souls of those who listened. They would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked, now, and there was something sad that the powers that could have brought joy to the lives of all the Ki’ir-ar who sat entranced was used to rally them to die. Still, a roar greeted his words, the sharp, descending call of a raptor signaling its kill.

“Let’s fly!” Dinew shot his arm into the air and the forest exploded in a flurry of claws and feathers and keen, killing eyes.

Dinew watched his army fly, shrieking their rage to the uncaring sky. The sight filled him with an indescribable pain, half of joy and half of sorrow. A hand touched his arm and he turned at the gentle pressure to look straight into Jostyn’s eyes. And all that pain, all that joy, was suddenly translated into...something else. All that Dinew could think about was Jostyn’s lips and her smooth skin and he wanted to do things to her, things that he didn’t know the names of but knew how to do all the same.

“Dinew what -- ”

“Shh.” He placed a claw on her red, red lips, smiled at her in the strange, hard fashion that he had somehow picked up. “Xinai.”

“What?”

“My Name. It’s Xinai.” He smiled again and this time it was as it used to be, open and childlike and lovely. “Come on. We’re going to miss all the fun.”

~~~

Date: Xo’ash 16th  
125th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: Plains of Khal  
Time: Four shadows past sun’s peak

It was only the element of surprise that saved them, and once that was lost the Ki’ir-ar were certainly doomed. Still the _Jin’an_ could quite comfortably say that, in those few shocked moments they possessed after descending on the unsuspecting barracks, they had dominated the battle. The soldiers of the Alliance had never dealt with a group so vicious -- and so desperate. The soldiers who looked stupidly up into the sky as their death descended upon them couldn’t have known that most of the warriors who flew with Dinew were past the point of caring, past the point of feeling. Most were displaced, survivors of raids, of destruction. None had a home. Only ten still had families. Only one was an expectant parent. These were desperate people, deadly people who fought not for a cause but because they had been hurt and this was the only means left to them for removing that pain. They were Aldersine, and they were there to kill.

But desperation and a berserker rage didn’t protect soft flesh from destruction by the Alliance’s weapons. And when Dinew called they came back, bleeding and sore but obedient, to a small valley half way between the Alliance fort and the dark sanctuary of the forest. They lay in the soft grass, licking their wounds and watching Dinew fume with strange, glassy eyes.

“We need a strategy.” Getraut was pacing. He always paced when he thought and sometimes Dinew thought it endearing and other times thought it annoying. This was one of the latter times.

“I _have_ a strategy.”

“Some strategy.” Getraut sneered and crossed his bloodied arms. “Some fucking strategy. All we’ve done so far is prick the wingless ones. What happened to the ‘great blow for all Ki’ir-ar kind’? Hmm?”

Dinew growled and for a moment he felt that like attacking Getraut. Clawing out his tongue or something. “I have a strategy and it’s a damn good strategy and I am going to fucking _destroy_ the wingless ones! _All_ of the wingless ones! I will bury them beneath the earth!”

And that, finally, got Getraut’s attention because, really, all he had been doing was getting rid of his frustration and his pain by taking it out on someone else. He hadn’t meant for Dinew to take everything so seriously, hadn’t meant for Dinew to, well, snap. But it was too late by then, because Dinew was already up in the air, winging his maddened way towards the fort. And all it took was one quick, piercing, accusing look in his direction and Jostyn was off after their young friend. And of course Getraut had to follow, because it was all his fault. But that really didn’t help with the sinking feeling deep within his gut.

There was a low ridge just before the Alliance fort, just within range of their guns. It lay to the west of the battlefield, and when Dinew and his Celai landed, they were outlined against the dusk sky. Well within the range of the Alliance’s weapons, the ridge was a dangerous place to be.

Getraut was wary when he landed on the slope of the ridge where the wingless ones couldn’t see him, but it was the thought of those who waited below, angry and shamed, that made his skin cool with fear-sweat. The soft, anxious noises Jostyn made beside him told him that he wasn’t alone in his fear. He hoped that they could leave soon, that Dinew would have sense enough to realize that he couldn’t take on the entire fort by himself. But that hope failed when Dinew passed over their heads to land on the lip of the ridge, and stand with his shoulders thrown back so that the dying sun gleamed on the blood that streaked his chest and arms. He was a perfect target and it was only the weariness of the wingless soldiers that kept him safe.

“Dinew. Dinew, this is foolishness. Please, let’s go back. You’re not proving anything!” Jostyn’s voice sounded weak and empty as she pleaded with the child.

But Dinew ignored her call, and instead he began to strut along the ridge, exposed and vulnerable and arrogant. He called out to the wingless ones, taunting them, and even though they couldn’t understand his words they understood the meaning. And Getraut knew with unshaken certainty that they -- all of them, Dinew, Jostyn, himself -- were going to die right here, right now because Dinew had gone mad and there was no way in hell that either of them was going to let anybody do anything to the boy that they loved. Besides, he could feel the scar on his palm pulse with the beat of Dinew’s anger and it made his head light with a strange pleasure. So he dug his feet into the ground to give himself a good push into the air, and forced his weary arms lift Arathon, the sword of his family, and let the battle-joy sweep over him.

Except his legs were trembling and he knew that it wasn’t because he was tired or afraid, because the entire earth was shaking, pebbles dancing in the air. That was when the terror really struck, because he remembered this shaking, remembered the last time the earth trembled.

 _He’s really going to bury them._

Beside him, Jostyn sucked in a breath, shot him a fear-filled glance. She knew as well as he what was happening here -- knew that if Dinew went through with his plan than nothing would be the same. This was destruction without cause. This went against everything sacred, against everything that was pure and right to the Ki’ir-ar.

“Dinew! Stop this! NOW!” Getraut shouted, full force of his linage backing his words but not concealing his panic. But the small form paid no attention to the command and continued to strut calmly, confidently, even though the world around him shuddered with violent pain. “Dinew!”

“Xinai!” Dinew froze as Jostyn screamed his Name, then slowly turned, a questioning expression on his face. “Xinai, stop!”

“Jostyn -- ”

But that was as far as Dinew got, for on the plains below the Alliance soldiers had noticed the Ki’ir-ar who stood on the ridge. And they raised their weapons against him, all sights trained on this solitary symbol of their hatred.

The air filled with light. And then with blood as a hundred thousand lasers cut through Dinew’s body, left gaping, steaming, burning holes where flesh and blood and life had been. The force of the impact sent Dinew reeling back a few steps, and then he tripped over a rock and fell beyond the range of their weapons, tumbling and rolling down the ridge’s slope. But the damage was already done, for surely nothing could have survived such a concentrated attack, nothing could survive when it bleed all over, a red shape against the dead grass.

And as Getraut took a step forward, he began to wonder what had happened to the spirits that Dinew had been summoning. But he didn’t have to wonder long, because the earth fell away from him and Jostyn screamed, briefly, before the spirits that had been released too soon and without guidance surrounded her, and when they passed her by there was only a rock in her place, one that looked like it might have been her long ago.

~~~

Date: Unknown  
Location: Unknown  
Time: Unknown

He remembered the darkness. He would always remember the darkness, would always feel the swell of panic in his breast at the prospect of endless blackness.

And yet, the darkness was his home, for he had been born in the darkness.

He wondered where he was.

“So you failed.”

He looked up at the voice, at the glow that came with the words, glad at first for the light and then afraid for the light was the white light of Anai. “Mother.”

“Do not ‘mother’ me!” A slim, pale hand snaked out from the long robes that clothed the Goddess and slapped him hard across the face; hard enough for him to bite his cheek and taste the blood that invaded his mouth. “You worthless, useless, spineless child!”

“I didn’t -- ”

“I don’t care!” Anai snarled and turned with a swirl of her robes and a rustling of her white feathers. “I don’t care if you meant to fail, you failed none the less.”

“Mother. Anai,” anger was welling, now, summoned by the light. “How was I to know that she would call my Name?”

“Pah.” Anai turned back, cold anger lining the icy beauty of her face. “You should not have told her in the first place.”

“She is my friend, my Celai-mate. I love her.”

“No!” Anai hissed and suddenly she was beside him in the darkness, sharp fingers digging into the soft flesh of his chin. “You. Love. Me. You love _only_ me.”

“Mother, you’re hurting me.”

“Say it! Say you love me!”

“Mother!”

“Ahh!” Anai threw him aside and he fell to the ground, touching the five little cuts that wept his blood. The Goddess stood back, unfurled her wings, seemed to swell in the darkness until she was a giant, a monster come to destroy him. Her pale blue eyes were hard and piercing as she gazed upon his sprawled from. “You have forgotten where you came from, forgotten what I brought you out of. I made you, and I can unmake you.”

 _Pain. Blood. Screams resounding in the night._

 _Footsteps, tramping, tramping, tramping. Heavy thuds as bodies hit the ground._

 _Huddle down. Stay hidden. Don’t cry out though the fear makes you tremble. They will find you and take you away. Stay there until I come back. Stay there._

 _But she never comes back._

 _Mud, made from the earth and the blood. It seeps down into the hole, covers your belly, sticks in your toes. The bodies are heavy above you._

 _More screams. Always screams. Will the noise never stop? Will they never finish?_

 _It is cold._

 _It is so cold._

 _Silence. Endless silence. What happened to the screams?_

 _Maybe it’s over. Maybe it’s all right to get out of the hole._

 _No. You’re supposed to stay there until she comes back._

 _But she doesn’t come back._

 _Eternal silence._

 _Mommy?_

 _Daddy?_

 _Anybody?_

 _Please, please, please, I’m afraid. I’m so afraid. Don’t leave me alone, don’t go away. Don’t leave me. I’ll be good. I won’t cry anymore. I won’t fuss. I won’t fight. I promise, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. I’ll be good! I’ll be good! I’ll be --_

“ -- good!.”

There was soft cloth beneath his hands and against his cheek and he slowly realized that he knelt before Anai, clutching at her robes. He looked up at her and there were tears in his eyes. Fear, primal and uncontrollable, gripped his heart and he pressed himself closer against his Goddess. “Don’t put me back there. Please, don’t put me back there. I promise I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Shh. Shh. My baby. My child. My son.” A cold hand reached down to stroke his hair, cup his face. “It’s all right. I won’t put you back. Just remember that it was _I_ who brought you out. If not for me, you would still be trapped below the earth. I gave you life. I gave you purpose. You are _mine.”_

“I love you, Mommy, I love you, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, I love you.” He was reduced to babbling, scarred and scared by something that shouldn’t -- couldn’t -- hurt him.

Anai smiled and then, gently, pulled her robes away from him. He fell to the ground, naked and trembling and crying and curled in on himself like someone had slugged him in the gut. The smile faded, but he didn’t notice.

“You are too weak. I left too much of the child in you. Well, now is as good a time as any to correct that mistake.” She touched his head and he leaned into the contact, biting his lip as a fire ripped through him, burning the child out of him, scouring him clean. He would be strong for his Mother.

But, oh, the change hurt so much. It was worst than the last time.

When it was done, and he had been stripped and re-Named with a Name so secret even he didn’t know it, he found that he had bit through his lip and blood flowed down his chin in twin rivers that dripped onto the nothingness. He gasped and licked at the wound, trying to keep the salty blood within his body. “Mother.”

“Shh, precious.” Anai wiped the blood away with one finger. “Shh.”

The blood was hot where it hit his chest, and then it turned cold and sluggish as the little droplets followed the course of gravity and oozed gently downwards. He touched one of the drops and it burned him, sparking and fizzling and dancing like water on a hot stove. He looked up at Anai. “Mommy?”

“Shh.” She rubbed the blood-slicked finger against another finger, spreading the blood. The red stained her pale skin and that made her smile, a little, for it gave her an illusion of life. Her gaze, distant before, sharpened and she looked down on the boy. “I think it is time for you to learn how to take a little pain.”

And then there was nothing but blood and blackness for a long, long time.

~~~

Date: Xin’yi 24th  
126th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _al’Shodar Abar_  
Time: Two shadows past sun’s set

The first thing he noticed was that he hurt. A lot. In many and varied places. Including places that he didn’t think it was _possible_ to feel pain. Like the end of his hair.

The second thing he noticed was that he really wanted to punch something.

Someone sighed beside him, the weary sigh of the half-asleep. Feathers rustled in the darkness, and he turned toward the noise.

“Getraut?” He sounded funny. He felt funny. There was a coldness deep inside him and he wanted to feel some warmth. “Getraut?”

There was a snort as someone came fully awake, and then a blinding flash as a torch was lit. In the flickering light, Getraut’s face looked worn and lined, and his smile was weak and weary. “You’re awake! Good.”

“What happened?”

For a moment Getraut wondered what to say. All his carefully chosen words had left him and he wanted to scream at this child who had put him through hell. He wanted to shout that Dinew had acted like an idiot, that he had almost gotten them all killed -- had definitely killed Jostyn -- and then proceeded to refuse to die for ten long, lonely months. By all rights he should have died. But he didn’t and the longer he lay there, refusing to relinquish his grip on life, the more Getraut came to resent him, hate him, because Getraut was as suspended in time as Dinew.

Except now he was back and Getraut could live again and all the angry, bitter thoughts that had cluttered his mind those ten months began to feel shameful. So instead he looked down and, softly, said, “Jostyn died.”

The boy smiled, nodded sagely and reached out his hand. “Help me up.”

Getraut nodded and gripped the boy’s hand, pulling him up out of the nest that he had lain in for so long. As Dinew rose, Getraut wondered who this strange, almost skeletal person was. Ten months had turned the once childishly rounded Dinew into a lean, whip thin man with cold eyes and a hard, edged face. The child had been burned out of him and Getraut wondered what had been left.

The boy stood in the center of the room and stretched his wings, and the light from the torch caught the gold of his feathers, except for the tips, which were a dark, rich red. The color of blood taken straight from the heart. Getraut made a small noise, somewhere between surprise and desperate sadness and that made the boy turn, thin brows rising in question.

“Your wings.”

He looked down, fingered the blood colored feathers and then smiled a little. This felt right. This was supposed to be. “It’s all right.”

“But Dinew -- ”

“No.” When he looked up, his eyes held a strange light, cold and hollow. The frozen spot within him expanded, captured him, and he realized that this was as it should be too. “Dinew is dead.”

“Okay,” Getraut said slowly, because really, what else was he going to say? “Okay. So what should I -- should we -- call you?”

The boy fingered his bloody feathers and smiled again. “Call me...a’Shteru.”


	40. Interlude

_The Legend of Anai_

_In the beginning, there was Nothing and Chaos and the One. And from the One came the Word which created the World and the Gods. And the happiest of the Gods were Han-xao and Tanan, Love and Peace._

 _The One left the World to the Gods and the Gods created life. They made the trees and the rocks, the waters and the wind, and placed spirits in all of their creations to ensure that their work was continued. But the beauty of the world was empty, for there was no life to enjoy the works and wonders of the Gods. And so came the First. And from the First came the Ki’ir-ar and the Tsa-Eitog, the beasts of the earth and the beasts of the skies and the beasts of the sea._

 _And this was good._

 _Now as life teemed on the planet, the original Gods split, and the Gods who favored the Tsa-Eitog became their Gods, and gave them gifts. And the Gods who favored the Ki’ir-ar became their Gods, and they gave the Ki’ir-ar gifts; gifts of strength and speed. They taught the Ki’ir-ar how to fight with honor, how to summon the spirits, and how to heal their sick. And this too was good, for the Gods that valued the Ki’ir-ar took great pleasure in the joy with which the Ki’ir-ar lived._

 _But not all of the Gods who loved the Ki’ir-ar taught them how to war. Tanan and Han-xao gave the Ki’ir-ar beauty, teaching their chosen ones how to create art with their hands. And many of the Gods were discontent, for the chosen ones of Han-xao and Tanan could entrance those who possessed the gifts of the other Gods and make them forget how to fight._

 _In time, a son was born to Han-xao and Tanan and they named him Jao, Joy, and they were content. And there was nothing but peace and prosperity and procreation between the Gods. And as there was peace between their Gods, so too was there peace between the Tsa-Eitog and the Ki’ir-ar._

 _But peace does not last forever, and the First Age was shattered with the death of Tanan and Jao._

 _Nobody knew what -- or who -- killed the two Gods, but the death of her husband and son destroyed Han-xao. Overcome with grief, she abandoned her chosen ones and rent her hair and clothes. Her sorrow was so profound that it tore her apart, destroyed that which made her Love._

 _None would help her find the killers of her family, for none wanted to confront that which could kill Gods. The other Gods of the Ki’ir-ar took the death of Tanan and Jao, and the internal destruction of Han-xao, as a means of sparking a never-ending hate between the Ki’ir-ar and the Tsa-Eitog. Long had a jealousy hidden beneath the peace between the Gods of the Ki’ir-ar and the Gods of the Tsa-Eitog. And as the Gods did, so too did their worshipers._

 _But this retaliation against the Tsa-Eitog did nothing to soothe Han-xao’s grief. Nothing could help her but pure Hate; Hate for everyone and everything. And she swore eternal vengeance against the World. That which she helped to create, she would now destroy._

 _Now she wanders the World under a different name, seeking her vengeance, a dark shadow of her former glory. She has become the patron Goddess of those who have lost all that they loved to violence. But beneath that Hate, some of the Love still remains, twisted and malformed and it is that deformed Love that drives her ever on, drives her to find her family again._


	41. Chapter 41

Date: Tso’ten 10th  
126th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _al’Shodar Abar_  
Time: Sun’s peak

a’Shteru wheeled in the sky, exalting in the way the sun hit the blood red tips of his wings. His feathers glowed with an almost ruby light, and he crowed his delight to the sky, shooting up into the high, pale part of the sky where the air burned his brain. Getraut looked like nothing more than a speck from that height, a black dot in the blue sky. He wouldn’t be climbing as high as a’Shteru today -- not with his wing newly healed, and a’Shteru felt a momentary pang of sympathy for his blood-mate. His heart swelled for his dearest, for his other half, for the one who meant almost all the world, and it might have been called love had a’Shteru been capable of love. As it was, this was the closest he would ever get. And maybe that would have made him sad, had he still been able to feel anything but the blood rushing through his veins, been able to think of anything other than revenge.

To the west, the sun sparkled on the far distant ocean. The next target was there, a naval port. And beyond the ocean lay the continent of _Kilan._ a’Shteru wondered how long it would take to convince his army that they must migrate across the wide ocean. The wingless ones here were becoming a little too wary, a little too scarce. Across the ocean lay virgin territory, land unspoiled by fear of a’Shteru and his marauders.

The thought of bringing fear to those fat, complacent intruders brought pleasure to a’Shteru. He could smell their blood in the air, and he smiled.

~~~

Date: Tsu-xao 14th  
126th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _Rein-Aerie_  
Time: Three shadows past sun’s peak

Getraut went home for the spring festival, and a’Shteru went with him. Not the wisest of decisions, but nobody said ‘no’ to a’Shteru anymore. Nobody said much of anything to a’Shteru anymore, not since Dinew died and a’Shteru rose up in his place.

What happened during those long months when a’Shteru lay still and silent, body healing but soul gone, Getraut didn’t know. Only a’Shteru knew that, and he wasn’t about to tell. But Getraut knew that something had changed. Something indefinable, something important had been lost, killed, destroyed, and with that destruction, the boy that Getraut had known had been lost as well. In his place was this stranger with glittering eyes, this madman who didn’t realize that everyday more and more of his army fled him, fled his madness; this stranger who ignored pain, ignored blood, ignored honor; this stranger who, just when Getraut thought he would finally be free of this unrequited love that tied them together, would turn and smile like Dinew used to, grip Getraut’s arm in giddy delight and Getraut would melt all over again because suddenly the stranger wasn’t quite so strange.

And that was what a’Shteru was doing right now, holding onto Getraut so tight that it was a little hard to tell where one scared body ended and the other began. His mouth gaped in wonder, amazed at the numbers of Ki’ir-ar that confidently strolled along the broad avenues of hidden _Leyuan_ their bright feathers and bright clothes and happy, easy peace so very different from the grim, dark Ki’ir-ar of _al’Shodar._

“Look at them, Getraut,” a’Shteru breathed. “Look at them smile! That’s what I want. That’s all I want. I just want to see my people smile.”

~~~

Date: Tsu-xao 16th  
126th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: Chambers of al’Joran  
Time: Three shadows past sun’s rise

“When will you come home, Getraut? Your mother misses you. I miss you.” al’Joran poured himself a draft of the potent spring beer, words thrown almost casually over his shoulder. He stood facing the open window, body a silhouette against the setting sun. In Getraut’s mind, this image was particularly fitting. His father had always been something of a shadowy figure, more Marak-lai than Ki’ir-ar.

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t like the idea of you out there, Getraut. Fighting these _autaras_ hand to hand. What if you died?”

“Then I die. We all die eventually, father, and I’d just as soon die doing something worthwhile than hidden away in these empty mountains.”

“Getraut,” al’Joran’s voice was harsh, “what you do out there is as useless as what you perceive my actions to be. All you do is anger the _autaras,_ goad them into hurting our people even more.”

“Is that so? Than why haven’t there been any more captures since a’Shteru took charge of the _Jin’an?_ Why haven’t there been anymore shipments taking our people away?”

“Because those they capture, they kill. I have seen the ravaged Aeries just as you have. I have seen the bodies left to rot under the sun.” And now al’Joran had turned completely, stepped away from the window, face and form all to discernible. There was anger deep in al’Joran’s steel blue eyes, a clenching in his granite jaw. “And I have seen what a’Shteru has done. I have seen his battles, seen his viciousness. He is no longer a Ki’ir-ar, Getraut. He is shunned by the Aeries, followed only by _Aldersine._ Getraut, if he doesn’t stop his fruitless attacks on the _autaras_ than I will declare him _Sans Mei’yo._ He will be an outcast, and all those who follow him be outcasts.”

“Then he will be an outcast, and I will be too. He will not stop, and I will not leave him.” Getraut straightened, knowing that he cast off that which was near to the core of his world. His family would be lost to him if he followed a’Shteru. But how could he not follow the small boy who cruelly gripped his heart? “Is that all, father?”

“Getraut, don’t be foolish. What does this destroyer offer except pain?” al’Joran’s stony glare was beginning to melt, his hard eyes beginning to soften as fear for his child entered his soul. “His is the path of disaster. The reports from the Aeries he ‘protects’ are full of fear. Our people are beginning to hate him, Getraut. They believe that he is the _Keith’an-skai;_ a superstition I realize, but that is what they believe. They want him killed. Getraut, you hear their whispered fears as well as I. You must know that he has strayed from the path of sanity. Why do you follow him?”

“Because I have sworn _Dilschaut ir’sange._ Because Jostyn loved him. Because _I_ love him. Because...because I can’t help myself. I will protect him at all costs, father, and from anything that would harm him. I will protect him from the _autaras_ and I will protect him from you.” Getraut looked into his fathers eyes, and it was suddenly hard to believe that the man across from him was his elder. In the past year, Getraut had seen more, done more, than this man had done in his long centuries of life. “I will protect him. Nothing will harm him.”

“But who will protect you?”

There was a moment of silence, the Getraut stood. His face was a perfect copy of his father’s, stony, impenetrable. Outwardly, he was angry; but inside he finally understood his father’s mask. Better to appear offended, to appear apart than to let the world know -- to let his father know -- just how unsure he was inside.

“Getraut-” al’Joran stretched out a hand.

“May I leave?”

“Getraut, he will be your death. He will kill you.”

“May I leave, Marak-lai?”

“Getraut, please, don’t do this. I am your father. I care for you.” All pretenses at stony separateness had left al’Joran as he begged his son. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t get yourself killed. Don’t. Stop this now. You have some power over a’Shteru; talk to him. Bring him back. You’re the only one who can do this. If you can’t...then I _must_ kill him. He is too dangerous to live.”

“Goodbye.” Getraut turned, stalked haughtily out of his father’s chambers. In his mind, he knew that what his father said was true, that a’Shteru was going too far in his fight. But his heart, his blood, his soul, would not listen.

“Getraut! Come back!”

Getraut ignored the cry, though he wept inside for that which he had lost. The son of al’Joran would never return to the windy heights of the Rein-Aerie.

~~~

“We’re leaving.”

a’Shteru looked up at Getraut, eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. “What?”

“We’re leaving. Now.” Getraut looked out past a’Shteru’s whipcord body at the Ki’ir-ar that dove into the sun warmed waters of the Rein-Aerie’s hidden cove. He wanted to memorize the way the light played off of the silvery scales of the still fighting fish as they were torn from their watery home.

“Why?” a’Shteru leaned back, closed his eyes and turned his golden skinned face up to the morning sun. “I like it here. Besides, the spring festival isn’t even half over yet.”

“Because we must. Because I have just come from my father, and he has cast us out.” Getraut felt strangely formal, his voice flat as he spoke the stilted words. He felt a mad laugh pushing against his lips, strain against his chest.

“Outcast, huh?” a’Shteru said. He sighed and pushed himself up, brushing the sand off of his hands. “Well, it was bound to happen.”

Getraut stared at his young charge, a slow burning anger center in his heart. How could a’Shteru take this pronouncement so calmly, accept this unthinkable fate with such unwavering aplomb? Surely the child knew what being an Outcast meant. Surely the child knew that they were cast adrift, alone in this unfriendly world. How would they survive? How would they live without the comfortable web of family and clan supporting them? Didn’t a’Shteru feel the twisting pain in his chest, the slowly sinking, maddening feeling, the helplessness that made the world swim in an unrelenting vertigo? Surely Getraut wasn’t the only one filled with a panic so great that it crushed his chest, squeezed his heart. Surely a’Shteru could feel the emptiness, the sudden lonely abyss that gaped within the soul. No sane creature, no true Ki’ir-ar could live and thrive without the surrounding support of the invisible, intangible lines of the clan and Aerie.

“a’Shteru...”

“Cheer up, Getraut,” a’Shteru said. He smiled, gripped his bonded’s hand tightly. “You have me, and I have you. That, and our battles, is more than enough to keep us going.”

Getraut stared into a’Shteru’s dark, reflective eyes and for the first time, doubt crept into his heart.

~~~

Date: Bellan 3rd  
126th year of the reign of al’Joran-kai  
Location: _al’Shodar Abar_  
Time: Five shadows past sun’s peak

Getraut didn’t want to believe. That was the truth, plain and simple. He didn’t want to believe. And then he had to.

Maybe it was because of love that Getraut had taken so long to believe. Getraut liked to think that he had delayed out of love, out of the unwavering belief that someday, somehow, a’Shteru would turn around and become the small, cold, frightened, bloody child he and Jostyn had found in the snow. But, secretly, in the deepest part of his soul, Getraut was sure that it was because he was afraid: afraid of life with a’Shteru, afraid of life without. He was afraid of what a’Shteru did, of what a’Shteru would do. He was afraid that a’Shteru would leave, and then he truly would be alone.

He had given everything up for this boy; he had lost his family, his clan. He had lost himself in the child’s black, empty eyes. And he couldn’t even get mad, because he had willingly given all of that up, willingly relinquished himself. He had lost almost everything, and he didn’t want to believe because then he would really have nothing, but he had to once a’Shteru began to talk about the children; he had to believe that a’Shteru had slipped past all reasoning when he spoke of taking the battles to the innocents, to the children of the wingless ones unguarded villages. a’Shteru called the plan “retribution.” Getraut didn’t call it anything, because there was no name, no word capable of describing the horror that twisted his soul at the very thought of killing children.

It was that horror that drove him to betray a’Shteru to the wingless ones. It was the horror that sent him to speak to the wingless seneschal of their cousins the Breshav’i, and work out the plan. It was the horror that made him sever the bond of blood, and the bond of trust, but not even the horror could destroy his bond of love.

And so it was done, and there was nothing left but an empty ache and waiting; forever waiting in the empty _al’Shodar._

He could still feel a’Shteru’s shocked rage resonating through his soul.

The sun slipped through the fire-clothed trees, long paths of golden warmth that Getraut tried to avoid at all possible cost. There was too much in this dying day that reminded him of another time, another world that existed so long ago in his mind, but so near in time. Getraut remembered another day when the trees had been green, and the sun a welcome friend that brought life to the world. He remembered another time of happiness and light, of air and laughter, when the world was new. So strange it seemed to him that that world had been a year ago. A saddening thought, and appropriate for the mood that Getraut had put himself into. The silence, and the dying earth that surrounded him, was all too appropriate. How the world had changed!

“Betrayer!”

Getraut had a moment of pure confusion, and then a’Shteru landed on his back, claws digging deep into soft flesh. Getraut stumbled forward, grunted in pain as his wings were pulled down by a’Shteru’s weight. Instincts screamed at him to roll, to scrape the enemy off his back, to somehow, some way, get free and run. Run as fast and as far as he could, because that would delay the inevitable a little, give him time to grab his sword or even a large rock and pretend to fight back when a’Shteru came to kill him. But he couldn’t, because this was a’Shteru, this was the one he loved with all his heart and soul whom he had betrayed, and he _deserved_ death. He deserved to die at a’Shteru’s hands.

“Betrayer!” a’Shteru howled again, and his talons ripped scarlet paths in Getraut’s skin. Getraut howled as well, and fell to his knees. He trembled as his mind fought with a lifetime of blood and instinct and battles.

“You have betrayed me!”

And that was the last coherent thing a’Shteru said for a long while, for a red mist descended on him and all he could see was blood, all he could hear were screams and the icy laughter of Anai. He felt nothing, thought nothing; he simply existed in a haze of rage.

Then the haze receded, and the golden afternoon sprang into focus, and there was red all. There was red on the ground and on a’Shteru’s skin and in his hair and eyes and coating his face like a horrific mask. The only place where there wasn’t any red was in Getraut, where it was really needed.

Not that there was much of Getraut left, really. Most of him was in tatters, some deep enough that a’Shteru could see Getraut’s insides pumping and pulsing away, pushing out even more of his life to soak the ground. For a long, confused moment a’Shteru wondered who had done this. Then he realized that he could _taste_ Getraut's blood in the back of his throat, and he pulled away from his friend’s remains to be violently sick.

A soft wheezing chuckle brought a’Shteru’s attention back to the pile of soft flesh and white bones that had once been Getraut, and to his horror the pile moved. A head that was little more than muscle and teeth turned gouged out eyes unerringly onto a’Shteru. The shattered remains of a hand gripped a’Shteru’s with a pulpy slickness. a’Shteru shivered and Getraut laughed his wheezy, empty laugh.

“Getraut...Oh Gods! Hold on, I’ll heal you. I’ll make it better, I promise! I promise!” a’Shteru crawled over to Getraut, carefully placed his friend’s head on his lap. He knew how to heal. He had healed himself just this morning after he had escaped from the _Shi’ban._ He knew how, and he knew that it would hurt, but this was _Getraut._ This was his family, his blood-bonded even though that bond had been severed. He would protect this family, because he hadn’t been able to the first time. The pain of the healing spirits filled his hands and his arms, licked at his skin with a malevolent blue light and a’Shteru welcomed the pain.

Getraut shook his head, and there was what may have been a smile on his face. “Too late. It’s too late.” The fluttering of his lungs was easing, the pulsing of his heart steadily slowing. “I am dead.” He sighed, and he felt a vacuum in his chest as his lungs refused to inflate. The Dark Angel stood over him, clearly seen though Getraut no longer had sight.

He smiled, softly, gently, welcoming his death. Peace filled him, and a kind of wordless joy burned in his soul. All the pain of life had been bled out of him, and there was only love and happiness in the world. From a distance he could still hear a’Shteru crying, still vaguely feel the touch of his beloved’s hand, and Getraut wanted to share this overwhelming peace with the one person he loved the most.

“The sun is so warm,” he said. “So warm.”

“No, Getraut, don’t go. Please. Stay with me. Don’t go!” a’Shteru blinked his eyes, and felt the sharp sting of tears. He could feel Getraut growing colder, weakening with each painful breath. “Please.”

“Let’s fly in the sun, a’Shteru.” Getraut turned and even through the ruins of his eyes, a’Shteru could see the peace his friend had achieved.

“Getraut,” a’Shteru moaned, choking on the word.

“I love you.” The whispered words were almost hidden in the wind, wheezed out by Getraut’s fading lungs. a’Shteru leaned closer, bent almost double over his friend’s body until Getraut’s lips brushed his ear. “I'm sorry."

“Oh Goddess...Getraut...”

A tear fell from a’Shteru’s check and splashed on Getraut’s forehead, washing away the slowly drying blood.

Getraut’s hand spasmed, and then released.

He was gone.

a’Shteru stood and backed away from the corpse, more horrified than he had ever been before. He could feel his breath hitch, his chest ache and burn and he felt a darkness growing in his mind.

 _He_ had killed Getraut! He had killed his family. There was no one else to blame, no one to seek revenge on but...himself.

And for the first time since his mother died, a’Shteru cried, wept for his pain and sorrow until all of his tears were gone.

~~~

Date: Unknown  
Location: Moratum  
Time: Unknown

The world was empty and dark, and a’Shteru couldn’t feel anything. There was neither heat, nor cold; no hunger or thirst, no pain, no joy. There was nothing to touch, nothing to smell or see or hear or taste. There was nothing to stand on, nothing to fly on. There was nothing except the memories.

a’Shteru wanted to open his mouth and scream, but he wasn’t sure he had a mouth anymore. He wasn’t sure if there was anything left but the memories of blood and pain and sadness. All the old guilt, all the old suffering became magnified in the nothingness. And he deserved the pain, the suffering because he had killed his family. He deserved whatever the wingless ones did to him; he was unworthy of life as a Ki’ir-ar, unworthy of death’s peace. He needed to suffer, just as he had made his enemies to suffer.

How long had he been here? How long had he been reliving the old pains, the old mistakes?

He was unraveling.

 _I am a’Shteru,_ he screamed silently, defiantly, into the darkness, _Keith’an-skai, chosen of Anai!_

 _I am a’Shteru, Keith’an-skai, chosen of Anai!_

 _I am a’Shteru, Keith’an-skai, chosen of...chosen of..._

 _I am a’Shteru...Keith’an-skai...chosen..._

 _I am a’Shteru...Keith’an...Keith..._

 _I am a’Shteru..._

 _I am..._

 _I...am..._

 _I..._

 _I..._

 _...i..._

Then, silence.

~~~

Date: September 30th, 10039 A.U  
Day 13 of trial  
Location: Inside the Chamber of the Council of Five  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1020 STG

Keith slumped forward, sweat making his hair clump. His pounding heart could be heard clearly in the still courtroom. With a weary sigh he raised his head, looked out at the world with sad eyes.

“Now do you see?”


	42. Interlude

_Excerpts from transcript  
Talk With the Condemned  
Subject: Keith S. Tsumetai,  
a.k.a, a'Shteru, Ki’ir-ar of Nemai_

_Quiril: This is Antin Quiril, interviewer, appointed by order of the Council of Five. My subject is -- Excuse me. What should I address you as?_

 _Keith: It doesn’t matter._

 _Q: Of course it does. This is history! Nobody’s ever interviewed a Ki’ir-ar before. Imagine all the things that can be learned from your testimony!_

 _K: No one other than the Council is going to see this, and I doubt that they’re particularly interested in learning anything._

 _Q: But...but what about your family? Don’t you --_

 _K: NO! They will not see this. They will not know what I have done, what I am._

 _Q: I...see..._

 _K: Sorry. It has been a long week. I apologize for snapping at you. You may call me Keith._

 _Q: Right. We, uh, we have to go through some guidelines before beginning so --_

 _K: I know. I’ve done this before though admittedly not in this exact context._

 _Q: Is there any topic that you wish to not discuss? I realize, of course, that you must speak of your life as a Ki’ir-ar, but I don’t want this interview to be too painful._

 _K: No. It’s fine. I have nothing to hide from the Council. Let’s just begin, all right?_

 _Q: Let’s start with a little history. I understand that you went by the name of a’Shteru when you were a Ki’ir-ar._

 _K: Correct._

 _Q: Is this the same a’Shteru that lead the terrorist attacks on Nemai in the early tens and twenties? The same a’Shteru that was later captured and sent to the Moratum?_

 _K: Yes._

 _Q: The Alliance loses track of you after your entrance to the Moratum. It was assumed that you died in the explosion in 10,022. What really happened?_

 _K: I escaped. I know that this isn’t the most satisfactory of answers, but at the time of my escape, I was truly insane. A year of total sensory deprivation does that to a person._

 _Q: Total sensory deprivation?_

 _K: You haven’t heard of this? It’s the Moratum’s favorite method of breaking those who are slated to be sold as sex slaves. This method doesn’t leave scars -- at least, not visible ones. Those considered too pretty to be broken in the normal fashion have these collars put on them, collars that take away their ability to experience touch and leave them speechless. They’re sort of like the collars the Lykorns use. After that they’re put into chambers that have no gravity, and permit no light or sound. They’re left to float there, trapped in nothingness for a standard year. The only escape is into their mind, into their memories...A year of this would drive anyone insane._

 _Anyway, I don’t remember much of what happened after my escape. From what I can piece together, I believe that I disguised myself as just another docile slave being shipped to the slave markets on New Earth. My intent was to destroy the heart of the Alliance. However, before I actually reached New Earth, I was purchased by one Lt. Ash Tsumetai of the Land Forces, and sent out with him to some of the Alliance’s outlying planets; I can’t remember their names right now, but if you look in Ash’s records, I’m sure you’d find the assignments. If it wasn’t for the fact that it would have been impossible to escape, I’m certain that I would have killed Ash. As it was, the year between my escape and Ash’s death was rather...boring. Full of impotent rage. Ash was a good master, though._

 _After Ash died, his parents decided to disguise me as a Sentient. I’m not sure what they did, or why, but when I awoke I was Keith. From there, my actions are well recorded._

 _Q: I see. And if you had been able to reach New Earth what would you have done?_

 _K: Blow up the sun, probably._

 _Q: You have that kind of power?_

 _K: Oh yes. Well, if I’m in the right state of mind, I do. It’s hard to give yourself completely over to a Goddess. You tend to think rather strange thoughts for days afterward._

 _Q: Why didn’t you enact this plan while you were the slave of Lt. Tsumetai?_

 _K: What would have been the point? I wanted to hurt the Alliance. In order to do that, I needed to strike where the Alliance was the most powerful; and that was New Earth. The destruction of some outlying planets would have been terrifying, but nowhere near the level of fear that the destruction of the center of the Alliance would cause._

 _Q: And now? What do you want to do now? Do you still wish to blow up New Earth? Do you still hate the Alliance?_

 _K: Well. That is the question, isn’t it?_

 _Q: Yes. Let’s...Let’s talk about something else. Could you describe the Moratum? If it’s too painful, we can talk of something else._

 _K: No. I said I would speak of anything that you asked. It’s just..._

 _Q: Take your time. I realize that it has been awhile. You’ve probably forgotten --_

 _K: Forgotten? How could I ever forget anything about that horrible place? How could I forget the pain, the way the very walls groaned with the agony of those captured and held in the Moratum? I remember everything about that hellish place as if I were still there. At the Moratum, Death hovered in the air, and blood stained the steel floors. Only the insane and the living dead inhabited the Moratum. All that could be heard was screaming, and those of us who were not experimented on were the silent witnesses of the agony of our kindred who screamed and screamed and screamed until they were forever silenced. How could I forget the grey, twisted men who poked and prodded me? How could I forget the way the world seemed drained of every color except that of blood -- blood on the ground, and on the walls, and in the air and on the white coats of those silent, empty men? How could I forget the bodies of the children who died in droves, their fragile forms callously piled in the center courtyard, waiting to be destroyed? How could I forget the smell of burning flesh and the greasy ash that fell from the sky, or the white smoke streaming from the crematorium whose fire was fed by the bodies of my people? How could I ever forget?_

 _I am haunted by my memories of that place. In my nightmares, I remember the tests, the foul experiments conducted on the weak, and the young and the very old, torturous punishment for those who could not be sold. I spent but three days outside of the chamber, but the things I saw in those three days are more than enough to chill my soul. I watched my people enter a living death, their souls destroyed and their bodies becoming nothing more than puppets. I watched as they cut out the tongues of those Ki’ir-ar who weren’t fated to be used for sex. In truth, those who were sentenced to die in the mines of far off worlds were the lucky ones. Their souls were gone, and their bodies would soon follow. They were broken quickly and then they were gone. For those of us who stayed, we only had a life of tortured madness ahead of us. We weren’t allowed to die, we weren’t allowed to let our souls break the corporal bonds and find sanctuary in the arms of our Gods. The chambers didn’t kill our souls. No one would buy our flesh if there wasn’t some spark of life, of spirit, if we looked on them with dead, empty eyes. They merely trapped us in our minds, made that which was once our solace our prison._

 _On Nemai, we mourn those who are captured and sent to the Moratum. They are dead to us. But death would be a blessing for those who pass beneath the gates of the Moratum, and into the steel maw of the Alliance. Men, women...even children. All are sacrificed to feed the Alliance’s hunger._


	43. Chapter 43

Date: September 30th, 10039 A.U  
Location: GG Headquarters, 1534 Kissinger St  
5th floor. Suite 5166.  
Time: 1020

Sven knew they had been tricked when Coran greeted them with a knowing, expectant smile and pushed the button that closed and locked the steel doors behind them. By then, of course, it was too late to rethink their plan, and Sven doubted even Hunk’s augmented strength could open the office doors.

That Hunk didn’t seem surprised made Sven wonder what else he hadn’t been told. How much was being kept from him? How in the dark was he?

“Boys. I’ve been expecting you,” Coran said. “You have some questions, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, we have questions,” Hunk said. He leaned down over the desk, almost nose to nose with Coran. “Why did you do it, Coran?”

“Do what?”

“Betray us all, that’s what!” Hunk pressed down on the desk and Sven winced as the old wood cracked. He moved out of the way, knowing that he had stumbled onto something immense, something that stretched beyond his feeble knowledge.

“And how, exactly, have I done that?” There was a banal smile on Coran’s face and he sat calmly in an expensive leather chair. He treated the enraged cyborg with the same patient condescension he would give to a petulant child. “I was just being a good citizen of the Alliance, turning in a dangerous criminal.”

“Bull shit.” Hunk slammed his hands down on the desk once more and then turned away. Behind him, the old wood still held the impressions of Hunk’s anger. “You knew that this was going to happen. You knew that once the world found out about Keith’s origins, once Allura found out about Keith, she would fight for the Ki’ir-ar for all she was worth. You knew that all we could do was damage control that we would have to go through with this farce of a trial. _Everyone_ knows that Ki’ir-ar are Sentient. But nobody wants to face this fact. If you were just being a ‘good citizen’ you would have kept your fucking mouth shut. You should have let it be! If you were really as concerned as you say you are you would have killed Keith the minute you found out -- or said nothing.”

“Said nothing and let a sentient race be enslaved? Said nothing and let the lies go on?” Coran said, rising to stand face to face with Hunk.

“Yes! Gods, yes. You knew what you were getting into when you joined us. We let the lie go on. We always let the lie go on because the truth is too dangerous, too damning. You were supposed to help us keep the lie going, keep shit like _this,_ ” Hunk turned back, eyes hard, “this stupid trial from happening.”

Coran shook his head gently, smiled benignly at Hunk even as his own eyes went hard. “Hunk, Hunk, Hunk. Don’t you know that that time has passed? Don’t you know that a new era is arriving?”

“What do you mean?” Hunk paused and felt his anger abate as a cold chill washed over him. Suddenly, he was afraid of the frail, old councilor with his long, grey hair and floppy, unassuming mustache.

“I mean that it’s time to stop lying. The age of New Earth is over.” Coran’s smile turned cruel. “It’s time to join the new powers or be destroyed. Arus is on the rise again, and now that Doom has been defeated there is nothing to stop Allura from retaking her place in the Alliance. And you can be sure that the first thing she will do is eradicate the Articles of Slavery. This trial is just the first step on that road.”

“No. No. That’s not right. New Earth won’t give up her place that easily. _HE_ will see to that. No weak, simpering girl will take _HIS_ place.” Hunk firmed his jaw, stared straight into Coran’s cold eyes. “Besides, you wouldn’t dare do something so drastic, not now. Not when we’ve just re-engaged with the Lykon’s. The Alliance must be strong now, free of internal conflict. Only _HE_ is capable of maintaining unity among us all.”

“Ah yes. General Javert.” Coran laughed and there was nothing comforting or benign in his manner now. “I’m afraid that ‘ _HE_ ’ has been taken care of. Sadly, your precious master was not as careful as he should have been. His body has probably been discovered by now. And, as the next highest ranking member of the Consortium, I must regretfully take his place.”

“No.” Hunk shook his head, not believing Coran’s words. He had seen _HIM_ the day before. He had been ruled by _HIM_ for most of his life, had looked up to _HIM_ like a child to a father. With out _HIM_ , what was to happen to Hunk now? “You lie. You lie!”

Hunk lunged forward, intending to kill Coran. The Arusian’s hand slipped beneath his desk and suddenly Hunk couldn’t move. He stood frozen, hands stretched out, body thrusting forward, straining, trembling, wanting nothing more than to close his large hands around Coran’s frail neck and squeeze. Coran brought his hand back out, a slim, black remote in his hand.

“Poor Hunk. You didn’t honestly think that we hadn’t built in certain safety precautions against any potential insubordination on your part, did you? You’re a much too valuable weapon for us to lose.”

Hunk howled, a muffled, strangled, piteous sound. His cry was closed in his throat.

“No!” Sven cried, voicing his lover’s pain. He moved forward and gently touched Hunk’s frozen face, placed a hand on Hunk’s arm and felt his trembling muscles. Fear filled Sven, fear at the power Coran held over Hunk, fear of losing Hunk. He had grown attached to the burly mechanic, and feared a life bereft of his last friend.

Coran turned his cruel smile on Sven, idly tossed Hunk’s controller from hand to hand, a subtle reminder of his power over the cyborg. “Ah. Young Bjornson. Good, good. I hoped Hunk would recruit you. Now. I am offering you a golden opportunity. Will you join me in this new age?”

“And what will you do if I refuse?” Sven asked.

“Nothing.” The immobile Hunk made a low, strangled noise of disbelief at this, which Coran studiously ignored. “Nothing at all. I trust you will make the correct decision.”

“What makes you think that your way is the right way? What makes you so sure of yourself?” Sven could feel Hunk’s anger, feel the half-man’s fear. It radiated off of him in a hot wave and it made him afraid.

“Because it is better than what we have now. Did you know that I had a wife and a son.” Sven mutely shook his head. “Of course you don’t. They were killed long before you came to Arus. They were, in fact, killed here on New Earth, stoned to death before my eyes. Not here, of course. We were visiting one of the more...backwards areas of this planet.” Coran put the controller down on the table and turned his back on the two younger men. He stared out of the large bay window that composed the back wall of his office with melancholy eyes, seeing again his family’s blood, hearing their screams, feeling the impotent rage of being unable to save them, to do anything in fact. “You see,” he continued, softly, words filled with distant sorrow, “my wife was an Arusian Ki’ir-ar, my son half-Ki’ir-ar. Their very existence necessitated their deaths.”

Sven stared at the Arusian advisor, and then at the discarded remote. He could reach it before Coran, he knew he could. A quick dash and the remote would be in his hands, Hunk would be freed of his paralysis. But then what? If they killed Coran, they would never escape this building alive; but what would happen if they worked with Coran?

Sven stepped away from Hunk, eyes suddenly shrewd. “Why? Why us? What do we have that you want?”

“Because I know you, I know you both. I know that you are true soldiers of the Alliance.” Coran turned back and Sven knew, then, that the deal had been made and set and all that was left now was to formalize their silent agreement. “You understand that the Alliance is not just one planet, nor one people, but all planets and all people. You understand that there are sacrifices that must be made and there are unpleasant tasks that must be done. You are not burdened with idealism like your peers. This is why I have approached you, offered you this opportunity to prove yourself and to protect the Alliance. Join me and I will groom you for power, for a place among those who make the real decisions. Will you join me?”

Sven looked into Coran’s eyes and saw a reflection of himself. The choice was so simple, really, and he felt Hunk’s tension slack in resignation as he too saw what they must do. This was what they had been born for, what their years in the Academy and out in the field had prepared them for.

The Alliance was all. There had never really been any question about that fact. The Alliance must survive, and if things had to change and people had to die, so be it. Sven had known that when he signed up to be a soldier, and he knew it now. His father had died for the Alliance.

“Will you join me?” Coran asked again.

“Yes,” Sven said.

The Alliance was all.

~~~

Date: September 30th, 10039 A.U  
Day 13 of trial  
Location: Inside the Chamber of the Council of Five  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1020 STG

Allura recovered first, and the scrape of her chair against the floor as she stood echoed loudly in the silent room. The harsh noise broke the trance Keith’s spell had woven, and around her the other members of the court slowly shook their heads, blinked their eyes and tried to return to normal. Allura wondered if they felt as adrift as she did, as unsteady on her legs as a newborn fawn. They had been cast ashore from the sea of raw emotion that had engulfed them only seconds ago and the world around her seemed less real than the world of Keith’s memories.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found that no words could come out. Swallowing hard a couple of times, Allura tried again.

“The, uh, the plaintiff has no further questions, your honors.”

The five judges nodded, some briskly, some dazedly. The New Earth judge focused his attention on Keith who sat with his shoulders hunched, rounded as if he was trying to hide from something.

“Counselor Swift, your turn to cross examine.”

Swift stood, slowly, a vague, lost look in his eyes. What could he do or say that would counteract Keith’s raw memories, his pain and love and hate? How could there be any doubt now that Keith was a Sentient, that the Ki’ir-ar were Sentients? All of the Alliance’s defenses were flimsy, wasted words now.

“The Defense has no questions, your honors.”

“You may step down, Keith,” Lotor said. Of all the judges, he alone seemed unaffected and Allura wondered if some of Keith’s pain resonated in Lotor’s soul as well.

“The plaintiff rests, your honors.”

“Defense?”

Swift stood and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Nothing could be said, and so he closed his mouth. He was a smart man. He knew when he was beaten, knew when he should stop a useless war.

“The defense rests.”

“What? You aren’t going to present a counter case?” The New Earth judge’s face was turning red with suppressed anger. This was not how the trial was supposed to go. This was not how Arus was to be embarrassed and drummed out of the Alliance once and for all.

Swift shrugged almost imperceptibly and sat back down. The New Earth judge glared at him, but could do nothing more. He was powerless and everyone knew it.

Lotor stood. “Gentlemen. Shall we retire?”

The courtroom was filled with the scrape of chairs against the wooden floor as the small assembly stood and watched the judges file out. The great room echoed with their passage and when the last traces of their presence faded, Keith stood and wearily rubbed his temples. Something about him had changed, and it took Allura a long moment before she realized that the image of strength he projected was truly nothing more than an image. There was a new frailty to him, a brittleness that hadn’t existed before.

“Let’s go.”

Allura nodded slowly, still slightly shocked. The pair made their way through the maze of hallways that made up the Alliance headquarters. They stood apart, each wrapped in isolating thoughts. The corridors began to blur becoming in their sameness one endless corridor.

Keith listed to one side, stumbling on an unseen snag. He leaned against the cloth-covered wall, trembling violently, his control slipping. He looked like he was about to cry.

“Keith.” Allura reached for him and he pulled violently away, shuddering and trembling. His chest heaved as though he couldn’t get enough breath.

“No. Don’t touch me. I’m. I’m not. You can’t, Allura.”

“Keith, you don’t have to-”

“I do.” Keith turned away, pressed his face against the wall. “Allura, you can’t help me now. Not in the way you want to.”

“Keith, I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do!” Keith turned back. “Yes, you do. You know exactly what you must do. You’ve known from the start. So please, don’t make it harder for yourself. Pull away from me now.”

“Keith.” Allura’s voice was strained and filled with desperation. “Why?”

“Because the Gods must be satisfied. And there is nothing you can say or do that will change that fact.” Keith pushed away from the wall. “As leaders, there are duties we must perform for the greater good that we do not like. Yet, we will do them anyway because that is our purpose. You know this -- I’m sure it was a part of your training as heir to the Arus throne. It’s time you started putting that training into action.”

Allura nodded slowly, took a shaky breath and sighed. There was sad resignation in her eyes. “All right, Keith. All right.”

“Good.” Keith’s shoulders sagged. He gritted his teeth and stopped the tremors. “Good. How much further to Arusian Consulate?”

“It’s just a few corridors down.”

Keith nodded and trudged on, one hand pressed lightly against the wall. Allura let him go, torn with wanting to comfort him and the knowledge of what she must do. She sighed, rubbed her forehead and followed him to the undistinguished door that led to the Arusian Consulate.

The door to the suite slid open softly, pausing Lance in mid pace.

“Keith!” Lance stepped forward and then paused, unsure of what Keith would allow. The former Voltron captain smiled wanly and stooped at the threshold, one hand closing around the edge of the door’s frame.

“I. um. Lance...” Keith trailed off. His hand spasmed and gripped the frame tighter, until his knuckles turned white and blood ran down his arm.

Lance said nothing, but stepped forward and pulled Keith into a tight embrace. Keith shuddered in Lance’s arms, shaking as though he cried, but no tears came. Lance bent low, his mouth near Keith’s ear, warm breath stirring Keith's hair as he whispered wordless comfort.

Allura watched them and felt a pang of sorrow. She wished she could give them the happiness they deserved, wished that what was to be could be avoided. But she knew their time together was limited. She hoped they used it well. She closed the door and moved into the suite’s makeshift conference room. Pidge looked up from the magazine he was perusing with some surprise.

“Allura? What are you doing back?”

“It’s over. The trial is in the hands of the Goddess and the judges.”

“Well? Now what?” Pidge asked.

“Now? We wait.”

~~~

Date: December 21st, 10039 A.U  
Location: The Star Chamber  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1745 STG

“NO! NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO!” The New Earth judge punctuated each word with a slam of his fist against the conference table. His face was red with anger, and his lips flecked with foam. He was an overweight man and Lotor thought that, if he was lucky, the man would die from a heart attack and they could finish with this nonsense and all go home. “This travesty will _not_ continue! We have wasted enough time on this damn case that should never have made it onto our docket in the first place.”

“Jacob, this is _not_ a travesty and it _will_ continue,” the dEkk-mnzvar said. “This is the last case of this term that must be decided. We have put it off at your and Galrack’s request, but we will delay no longer. We will not leave here until we are all in agreement. The decree must be unanimous.”

“Ha’asaashi is correct,” Larisan said. He tapped his bionic fingers against the table in slow boredom, body expressing the frustration that he could not speak. “Our decision will be one of the most important pieces of legislature in the history of the Alliance. There can be _no_ wiggle room.”

“Then there will be no decree,” the Renstat grumbled, shifting his massive body. “I agree with Jacob.”

“Thank you, Galrack,” Jacob said, bowing his head slightly. “I’m glad someone sees reason.”

“Well, I will _never_ let those beasts run free on my planet.” The Renstat shuddered, his rough grey flesh making the movement look like a mountain avalanche.

Lotor sighed. He was tired of this, tired of the petty bickering of insignificant men. Unless he did something now, flexed his weight, this stalemate would continue indefinitely, and Lotor didn’t think he could handle any more time away from Allura. As much as he hated her at times, hated her stubborn, willful ways, nothing could keep him from her side. This continued absence hurt him in ways he had not known possible.

“Your planet, Galrack? Don’t make me laugh.” Lotor pushed back from the table, tilted his chair back at a lazy angle. “You stole that planet from its rightful owners and then concocted this lie to prevent the obviously superior Ki’ir-ar from claiming what is rightful theirs.”

“What!” The Renstat judge sputtered incoherently. “You insolent bastard! You have no right to-”

“I have just as much right as you have. I have the same right that gave you leave to take Nemai from the Ki’ir-ar: the right of power. With just a word I can have the entire Doom armada terrorizing your borders. In months I could be sitting in this very chamber as the conqueror of New Earth.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jacob said. “The Alliance would push you back. You haven’t the manpower. Doom is small, weak. And under the terms of admittance, you restored the sovereign rights to all the planets your father conquered.”

“Most of those planets were allies, you fool. And it won’t just be Doom that you’re fighting. If I attack, so too will the Drule empire. Our blood runs deep, and our ties of blood loyalty have not been weakened by time and petty family squabbles. Arus will join me as well, and all of her allies. Allura is just itching to pay you back for all the slights and insults paid to her planet. Would you like to be on the business end of Voltron’s sword? Your Alliance will disintegrate under your very noses.”

“You would threaten the peace and prosperity of hundreds of planets for some measly, flea-bitten slaves?” Jacob roared.

“Yes, I would.”

“And I would join him,” Larisan said.

“As would I.” Ha’asaashi smiled, pointed teeth gleaming in the light. “I would not have the suffering of a race of peoples on my consciousness.”

Lotor smirked at the shocked expressions on the faces of the New Earth and Renstat judges. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, don’t look so amazed. Remember, my planet is populated by the descendents of criminals. I play this game by different rules.”

“You ungrateful wretches,” Galrack rumbled. “After all that New Earth and Nemai have done for you.”

“And that was what, exactly?” Lotor smiled slightly. “Face it, gentlemen, you have been overruled.”

“How could you do this, Lotor? You keep slaves yourself! How can you mandate that we free the Ki’ir-ar and yet not free your own captives?”

“Because my slaves have something the Ki’ir-ar don’t: hope. They know that someday they will be free, be it on the day I die or some earlier time. Besides,” and here Lotor leaned forward, the convivial expression on his face turning harsh, “my slaves are not property, they are not objects. They still have their identities, their individuality. The Ki’ir-ar have been stripped of humanity. And that is the true crime here.”

~~~

Date: December 26th, 10039 A.U  
Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0200 STG

Keith watched Lance sleep. He was so beautiful, so innocent. Keith wished for a hundred more nights like this, a lifetime of peaceful moments where he could watch Lance sleep, hear him breathing in the night. He could feel time slipping through his fingers, feel its weighty, remorseless pressure.

He touched Lance’s cheek with one gentle hand, stroked his lover’s hair. It felt like a river of silk, and Keith kissed the lock he held, kissed his eyelids, his check, his forehead. He wanted to remember everything, take in everything about Lance. He pressed his nose against Lance’s neck, breathed deeply, pressed his body closer to Lance’s.

Lance made a small sleepy noise and pressed back. Keith draped an arm around Lance’s waist, felt Lance’s heart beat.

“I love you,” Keith whispered into the night. “I love you so much.”

~~~

Date: December 31st, 10039 A.U  
Location: Inside the Chamber of the Council of Five  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1400 STG

The five judges filed in slowly, to the sound of scraping chairs and curious murmuring. The press was out in full force, cameras trained on the entering judges, recorders at ready. Keith shifted idly in his seat, outwardly at peace. Allura envied his ease. She could feel the tension from Lance and Pidge behind her, echoing her own tightly wound nerves.

“All rise,” the bailiff called.

The judges took their seats, Lotor at the head. Allura caught her lover’s eye and he winked, the barest hint of a smile playing about his lips. Allura smiled back, and relaxed, the tension leaving her muscles.

Lotor took the front seat to the increasing murmuring of the crowd, looking more like a judge than his compatriots. “Be seated. We, the Council of Five, are prepared to lay down our judgment.” Lotor turned toward Keith and Allura. “Would the plaintiff please stand?” They stood and Lotor smiled slightly. “It is the judgment of this council that a grievous error has been made on the part of the Alliance. We have stripped a noble, Sentient race of their freedom and humanity, enslaved them and abused them. Our wrongs against them cannot be possibly be redressed for they are too great. It is therefore the judgment of this council that the Ki’ir-ar be granted all rights as Sentient beings. It is the order of the council that, if there is any way we can possibly repay the Ki’ir-ar, we _must_ repay them.”

“I,” the Harmoni judge stood, “Ha’asaashi of the Harmoni people, so uphold the ruling.”

“As do I, Larisan of the dEkk-mnzvar.” The dEkk-mnzvar gazed at the remaining judges with steely eyes. He surreptitiously kicked the chair of the New Earth judge.

Grumbling, Jacob stood, a foul expression on his face. “I, Jacob of New Earth also uphold the ruling.”

Long seconds passed before Galrack stood, grudgingly, under the dark glares of the other judges. “As do I.”

Lotor nodded. “Good. As Keith is the only Nemaian Ki’ir-ar present who can represent their interests, we must ask him to express their desires. Keith?”

Keith stepped forward, moving away from the table where Allura sat until he stood in the center of the courtroom, facing the judges. “Your honors, the desires of the Ki’ir-ar are simple. Give us back our planet and leave us alone.”

“What!” Galrack leaned forward over the judge’s podium. “And what would _my_ people do?”

“I don’t care. You have stolen our home, destroyed our people. All we want now is to live in peace. And we can’t do that so long as there is any trace of the Alliance on our planet.” Keith stood firmly before the judge’s scrutiny. “You said you would do anything to redress the slavery of my people. This does not make amends for the centuries of abuse my people have endure, nothing can. This...this is a start. Someday, maybe, the Ki’ir-ar will wish contact with the Alliance. But not now.”

“We _will_ comply.” Lotor glared at the Renstat judge. “Is this all?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let it be known throughout that this is the decision of the council: The Ki’ir-ar are Sentient creatures. Let it also be known that any who persist in enslaving the Ki’ir-ar are subject to severe punishment. The planet of Nemai is to be returned to the complete control of the Ki’ir-ar and the Renstat and all Alliance members are to leave the planet immediately. These edicts are not to be questioned in any fashion.” Lotor looked around. “Very good. Then I declare this case closed.” Lotor accompanied his pronouncement with the _clack_ of the gravel. The murmur of the crowd grew to a roar, as the press reacted to the council’s decision. Keith turned toward Allura and nodded, briefly, curtly. Allura nodded back and stood, approaching the young man.

“Keith,” Allura raised her voice to be heard over the crowd’s noise, “known as a’Shteru, as the representative of the Marak-lai of Arus, I place you under arrest. Do you resist?”

The crowds stilled at Allura’s words, focus shifting once more to the new drama playing out on the courtroom floor.

“No.” Keith’s answer was soft but firm, almost a sigh and tinged with relief.

“I name you _Kosei-asaka_ and charge you as breaker of the Three Commandments. Do you deny this charge?”

“No.”

“I sentence you to death by beheading. Your execution is to be tomorrow at 0800. Do you accept these terms?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Will you name your _Lar’ilar_?”

“Yes. I name Sven Bjornson and Henry St. Cloud.”

“Very well. Then let it be so.” Allura turned away to face the new uproar of the bystanders. She caught Lance’s shocked eyes and looked away, unable to face his pain.

~~~

Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1430 STG

“Allura! Allura, stop!” Lance grabbed Allura’s shoulder, turned her around. “Allura, how could you?”

“Lance, let me go.” Allura sounded weary, her voice heavy with fatigue.

“No. Allura, how could you do this? How could you sentence Keith to death?”

“I had to, Lance. He's a wanted criminal on Nemai. And he could not rest peacefully now, not with his memories restored. He is not quite the Keith you know; he is a Ki’ir-ar, and he could never be happy living with his guilt. Hell, even if he weren't Ki’ir-ar, he couldn’t live with his guilt, you know this.”

“What is he guilty of, Allura? And how could you condemn him without a trial?”

“Because I have seen his mind. He has broken all three of the Three Commandments. He is guilty of a Ki’ir-ar crime and must therefore be punished in a Ki’ir-ar fashion.” Allura turned away, entered the suite, Lance right on her heels. “I’m sorry, Lance, but that’s the way it has to be.”

“What do you mean that’s the way it has to be? Allura, he’s your friend! How can you do this to your friend?”

“I have to, Lance. If the Ki’ir-ar are to be considered Sentient, then their laws must be upheld as well.” Allura rubbed her forehead. “Listen, Lance, Keith knew what he was getting into and, quite frankly, I don’t have time for this right now. Tomorrow, the first reports of a massacre are going to be coming in. The citizens of the Alliance are not going to take the council’s decision well. They’re going to take their anger out on their slaves. I’d be surprised if any Ki’ir-ar not on Nemai survives tonight. Removing the Alliance from Nemai will be difficult as well. So you’ll pardon me if I don’t want to spend a lot of time dwelling on a matter that has been decided and cannot be changed.”

“We were going to get married tonight,” Lance whispered. Allura was glad that she didn’t have to face Lance, face the anguish that filled his voice. His pain was palpable, a tangible presence that shimmered in the air. “We were going to get married tonight, no matter what the verdict, and we were going to ask you preside over the ceremony.”

Allura concentrated all of her energy on not letting Lance see the pain that suddenly pierced her heart. She said nothing, but felt Lance’s pained gaze. She wanted so badly to hug Lance, promise him that everything would be all right, but she couldn’t get the lie past the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I am truly sorry.”

The room’s walls and carpet swallowed her words, and the silence stretched between them. Then Lance turned away, went to the room he shared with Keith. He turned at the threshold, opened his mouth and then closed it. He had no words left for Allura. The door closed softly behind him, and Allura let herself crumple.

She wished Lotor were here, wished that she had shoulder to cry on. She wished she could hold Lance, hold Keith, spirit them away from this cruel world. But she was powerless. For the first time in her life, she was truly powerless, trapped within her role as a leader, the protector of the greater good. Allura hoped that she would never feel this way again.

But she knew her hope was vain.

~~~

Location: Arusian Consulate, 1532 Kissinger St  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 1900 STG

They were married that night, before their Gods and the law and Pidge. It was a beautiful ceremony, if unseen, and Pidge was the only wet eye in the house, Keith and Lance too intense to think beyond the moment.

It was a quick ceremony, and then Pidge was exiled and Keith and Lance retired to their room and didn’t speak. They tried only to memorize the other’s body, their other’s presence. Words were too weak now to express anything that hadn’t already been said.

When the night was over and the dawn was beginning to lighten the sky, they were too spent and so they lay there together, face to face, forehead to forehead. That’s when Lance began to cry, too exhausted to live in the now.

“Keith, Gods, Keith,” Lance sobbed. “Why?”

“Shh. Lance, don’t cry.” Keith stroked Lance’s sweat streaked hair, tucked Lance’s head under his chin. “Shh. I know, it’s hard. I’m so sorry I have to put you through this.”

“I don’t. I don’t regret anything, anything at all. I just. Gods. I.”

“Shh.” Keith kissed the top of Lance’s head. “Don’t think about it.”

Lance made a choking, moaning noise and buried his head in the crook of Keith’s neck. He kissed Keith’s chest, his cheek, trembling with need. “Keith, Keith, Keith.”

“Lance,” Keith sighed. He felt the heat of Lance’s tears on his skin. “I love you, Lance, never forget that.”

“I won’t.” Lance kissed Keith’s lips and clutched him close. “I couldn’t. Oh Gods, Keith.”

Keith said nothing, could say nothing, and settled with just rocking Lance slowly. Lance could hear Keith’s heart beating, slow and steady and comforting. The sound soothed him, and he wished that he could listen to Keith’s heart forever.

~~~

Date: January 1st, 10040 A.U  
Location: Execution Arena, 1003 Columbus Ave  
Kulala City, Alliance Island  
New Earth, Priman quadrant.  
Time: 0800 STG

When the soldiers came, Keith was ready. He sat calmly on the suite’s couch, holding Lance’s hand. Everything about him spoke of resignation, from the peaceful look in his eyes to the stillness of his body. Had the guards not dismissed the thought out of hand, they could have said that Keith looked...relieved. But that was foolishness, for who would be relieved about their death?

They did not bind Keith’s hands, letting him walk freely to his death. Though older than he, they knew a true warrior and they would not dishonor him with their distrust. Lance walked beside him, gripping Keith’s hand so tightly his knuckles were white. Keith felt Lance’s rapid pulse, his tiny tremors that were kept hidden from the guards. He looked pale and shaky, not nearly as cool as Keith. He looked like he was about to throw up.

The guards were silent, respectful. They were professionals, the very elite members of the Alliance’s forces.

They came to the arena underground, out of the sight of the watchful, vengeful eyes of the citizens of New Earth. The straight, neutral tunnels were confusing, deceptive in their bland, similarity. Lance didn’t know how long they walked beneath the city’s streets, how far it was to the arena. He hoped they would walk forever, but the journey was a short one. It seemed like only moments before they were at the foot of the ramp that led to the Condemned’s Walk. Lance could hear the murmur of the crowd, which wafted in through the open gate. He could see a bit of sapphire sky and feel the warmth of the distant winter sun. It seemed incongruous that today should be so pleasant, not when Keith’s blood was to be spilled. Couldn’t the Universe feel the emptying, gaping wound his death would bring?

Keith eyed the ramp, felt the tremble of Lance’s hand in his increase. He stopped and his guards stopped with him, turning inward slightly, hands resting on their guns.

“Could I have a moment please?” Keith asked. The guards looked at each other for the briefest of moments and then nodded, almost in unison before moving off to a discreet distance. Keith turned to Lance, face solemn. “Lance.”

Lance had to take a breath before he could speak. “Y-yes?”

“I’m sorry I have to do this to you, but there are a couple of things I need to take care of now. I need you to do two things for me.”

Lance nodded, unable to speak. He wanted to wallow in his own self-pity right now, hate Keith for doing whatever it was that led to this fate, this end. He wanted to scream at Keith, vent his anger at the world on the man he loved. But he wouldn’t because his pain was inconsequential, not in the face of losing Keith, not on the day of his execution.

Keith took a deep breath and stepped closer to Lance, voice low with intensity. “I need you to look after Asher. You’re the only family he has now. You’re the only one I’d trust with him.”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Keith smiled slightly, sadly. “And now. Well. Lance what I’m going to ask of you may be a little hard. When I.” Keith stooped for a second, face growing sad. “When I’m dead, they’re going to give you my body. I want you to cremate me and then launch my ashes into space. Can you do this for me?”

Lance nodded, the first of the tears trickling down his face. Keith pulled him close, held his husband tightly. Lance’s tears soaked Keith’s shirt, his cries of pain muffled by Keith’s body. Lance could hear Keith’s heart again, the same slow, steady beat that had lulled him to sleep the night before.

One of the guards coughed discreetly. “Sir. It’s time to go.”

Keith nodded slowly and disengaged himself from Lance. The other man wrapped his arms around his body, face streaked with tears. The guards bound Keith’s arms behind him, comfortably but securely.

“Are you prepared?” the guard asked. “Is there anything you would like? A blindfold? A final cigarette?”

Keith shook his head and squared his shoulders, turning to face the ramp up to the arena. Even with the circles under his eyes and the pale, sickly cast of his skin, he looked every inch the regal warrior. “I’m ready. Lead the way, gentlemen.”

The guards nodded and each took one of Keith’s arms in his hand, prepared to lead the former captain upwards into the crowded arena.

“No! Stop!” Lance dashed forward, placed himself between Keith and the opening. “Stop. Please, just for a moment.”

“Lance,” Keith began, but he was cut off as Lance kissed him, hard and passionate and desperate. His lips pressed against Keith’s brusingly hard. The guards turned their heads away, embarrassed by this act of desperate sadness.

Lance captured Keith’s face in his hands, pulled back for a moment to gaze into the other’s eyes. He ran his hand through Keith’s hair a final time, kissed him again, gently this time, and pulled him close.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Keith swallowed around a lump in his throat and touched his forehead to Lance’s. He breathed in deep Lance’s sweet smell. “I know.”

Above them, the assembled crowd’s distant murmuring grew louder with discontent. One of the guards touched Keith’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. We really must go.”

“No!” Lance held Keith as tight as he could, his chest heaving with his sobs. One guard grabbed Keith’s arm and tore him away, leading him upwards to the waiting crowd; the other held Lance back, grunting against the wildly struggling man.

“Keith!” Lance’s anguished cry followed the former captain as he stepped into the bright morning light. Keith wished he had tears left to cry over Lance’s pain, over his own loss, but his eyes remained dry and clear.

The crowd that gathered in the stands roared as he appeared, harsh cries of derision filling the air. Keith ignored their cries, concentrating on what lay ahead of him. On the raised platform, before a heavy wooden block, stood Hunk and Sven. A gleaming ax was in a stand close at hand, beside Allura who was dressed in full formal wear.

With a slow, even tread Keith made his way to the platform. Inside his head, a’Shteru was calm and silent, in full agreement with this course of action. Mad though he was, a’Shteru was still a creature of honor and duty. His task was done as best as it could be, and Anai could no more stop this death than she could find mercy in her cold, frozen heart. His punishment was the punishment of the Gods, for it was their rules that he had broken, and not even Anai would defy the full Thirty.

Allura watched Keith approach, struck by the difference in his step in this, his second death walk. There was a confidence and calm to his body now, a regalness that had been lacking the last time he had come to die. If it were not for her role in his death, Allura might have felt a certain pride in his bearing. He made those who were about to kill him appear crass and common, unworthy of taking a life as noble as his.

The walk was shorter this time, and Keith was soon standing on the platform. Allura took a shuddering breath, mentally rehearsing her role. There was to be no reprieve this time.

Keith stopped by Hunk and Sven, between them and before the chopping block. His old friends looked uncomfortable, though whether it was because of their duty or because of the morning sun in their eyes, Keith couldn’t tell.

Hunk looked at Keith out of the side of his eyes. There was some time before the ceremony started, time allotted to let the crowd stare and hate the condemned. “Keith. Why are we to be your executioners?”

“Because I have wronged you. In some fashion, I have wronged the both of you, and I would not have your hate follow me to my grave.” Keith’s voice was low and soft, meant only for their ears. It brought to mind memories of dark corridors and tense moments, where any movement could let the enemy know they were there. “Forgive me.”

Hunk said nothing, but looked across at Sven over Keith’s head. He wanted to forgive Keith for the thousand imagined wrongs he had accumulated over the years. He wanted to release his hate that he had kept hidden and festering ever since that disaster on SinisIV.

He wanted to beg Keith to forgive him.

“Keith, known also as a’Shteru, you have been found guilty on counts of needless destruction, leading your Celai unknowingly to their death, and the murder of Getraut, son of al’Joran. As such, your punishment shall be as it is written down in the _Ter’a’ta._ I cast you out. Let your name be forgotten forever, your deeds removed from the Memory Song. I name you _Kosei-asaka._ Are you prepared to die?”

“Yes.” Keith knelt before the block. A cool breeze had sprung up and it pulled at Keith's hair and sent dust swirling about in small tornados. A small cloud had drifted over the sun, darkening the day. Sven strapped his head down to the block and picked up the ax. He took a deep breath and raised the ax high. Its blade glinted dully, reflecting back the shadowed light. It wailed keenly as it sliced through the air and ended with a sickening thud deep in Keith’s neck.

Keith screamed, long and loud and high and primal. Sven pulled at the ax handle, but it was stuck, the blade trapped between to vertebrae. Blood spurted high into the air and Keith’s body writhed in agony. Sven yanked at the handle again, mouth tightly closed but gagging noises escaping from around his lips. Keith’s talons dug into the block, and he strained back against the strap that held his head down. Something behind his eyes burst and the world became dark and red. He could feel blood running down his cheeks and tasted it in his mouth. Sven yanked again and his hands slipped on the ax’s handle. He collapsed, sobbing incoherently, covered in Keith’s blood. Hunk stepped forward and grabbed the ax, roughly pulling it clear from Keith’s neck in a fountain of blood. Keith had stopped screaming, but Hunk could hear the high pitched keen of Lance who stood at the entrance to the underground tunnel. Hunk spun the ax, flinging blood high into the air, and brought it whirring down. It cleft through what remained of Keith’s neck and buried itself in the wooden block. Lance’s keen reached a new height and then cut off suddenly.

Hunk wiped the blood from his face and took a step back. He was so tired. Hunk touched Sven’s back, pulled the younger man into his embrace.

Allura shakily approached the chopping block. She unstrapped Keith’s head, gently cradling it to herself. A trail of blood still wept from each eye like tears and a strange, happy smile adorned his face. Behind her, two of the Arusian guards picked up Keith’s body and carried him out of the crowd’s sight.

The wind blew the small cloud away from the sun. It was going to be a beautiful day.


	44. Interlude

Interlude  


_Excerpts from transcript  
Talk With the Condemned  
Subject: Keith S. Tsumetai,  
a.k.a, a'Shteru, Ki’ir-ar of Nemai_

_Q: The execution of the -- what was the word again?_

 _K: Kosei-asaka._

 _Q: Right. What are the preparations that go into this ritual?_

 _K: Well, for starters, the ax that is used to behead the Kosei-asaka is made from the taproot of a Han tree, a tree that grows only in the sacred grove of Larakai, the God of wind. This root is burned slowly for three days and prayed over by representatives of all thirty Heavenly Ones. At midnight on the third day, it is taken from the fire and cleaned of charcoal and ash, until all that is left is the heart of the root, which has been shaped into an ax head by the Gods. For three more days, the ax is cleaned and inscribed with runes of power. During this time, the Kosei-asaka is kept in total seclusion. Seen by no one, fed by no one, the six days before the beheading are meant for contemplation of ones crimes and penitence. Not that the Kosei-asaka is particularly penitent. In truth, the seclusion is more to keep curious Ki’ir-ar from being contaminated by the Kosei-asaka’s evil._

 _At the end of the six days, the ax is ready. This is a sacred weapon, endowed with the blessing of the thirty and so keen that it can slice through a Ki’ir-ar’s neck as easily as it cuts the wind. At dawn on the seventh day, the Kosei-asaka is lead to die. The execution takes place at dawn because it is the between time, the time before the birth of a new day, but after the death of the old one. The Kosei-asaka must be killed then because that is the only time their spirit can be severed from the ties of earth and sky. The ritual of execution is very complex, and each step must be followed exactly, or the entire ritual is botched and the Kosei-asaka dies a painful, suffering death. If the steps are not followed exactly, if even one of the thirty does not bless the Kosei-asaka’s death, then the execution becomes not the necessary lancing of an evil but the torture of an innocent. If this is the case, then the Kosei-asaka’s spirit is cleansed of crime and allowed to become one with all. Their name is put back into the Memory Song and a new Death Song is sung for them, one that gives them back the honor and glory of their life._

 _Q: How do you tell if the ritual has been botched?_

 _K: The easiest way is if the Kosei-asaka does not die quickly and painlessly. A sure sign is if the Kosei-asaka goes to death suffering; to suffer is to atone and to die suffering is to die atoning. If they repent, their soul is cleansed. Of course, the Heavenly Ones are asked if the death of the Kosei-asaka was displeasing, just to make sure. It wouldn’t do to reprieve a guilty soul._

 _Q: Yours are a cruel people, Keith._

 _K: No crueler than the rest of the Alliance, Quiril. We’re just more open about our darker sides._

 _Q: So I see. Why is the ax made of wood?_

 _K: Because there are no metals to be found on Nemai._

 _Q: No metal whatsoever?_

 _K: Well, maybe a little metal, but not much. There are some gold nuggets to be found in streams, and I’m sure a scan of the planet would reveal small deposits of ore. But even if metal ore was available to us we would not mine for it. No Ki’ir-ar, unless under great duress or in dire straits, willingly goes underground. Besides, we already own all the metal we need._

 _Q: What do you mean?_

 _K: I mean the bones of the Ki’ir-ar. Our bones are stronger than the strongest alloy. They have to be, because the winds on Nemai are fickle beasts and will as often sling you into the mountainside as bear you above the earth. If you tried to fly, your bones would break under the strain of flying on the Nemai wind. Our bones are strong enough to withstand even the most fearsome gale Nemai can whip up; and we can fight in it too._

 _Q: I don’t believe you._

 _K: I am deadly serious. Why do you think our wooden weapons are so deadly to the Alliance soldiers? What good is space armor against a weapon designed and forged to be strong enough to cleave through Ki’ir-ar bones?_

 _Q: Then how do you fly?_

 _K: Our bones are hollow, like those of birds._

 _Q: Actually, that reminds me of something. How do you fly? I mean, I understand most of the mechanics, but I don’t understand how you can steer without a tail._

 _K: We use our legs. Our hips sort of lock in place and act as a surrogate tail._

 _Q: Huh. Interesting. Quite amazing, in fact._

 _K: Well. I like to think so._

 _Q: If you win the trial, do you plan to go back to Nemai?_

 _K: No. I’ll never return to Nemai._

 _Q: Why not?_

 _K: Because I’m the Keith’an-skai. If I set foot on Nemai, I will be killed, hunted down like an animal and slaughtered._

 _Q: Well then what do you plan to do?_

 _K; Nothing really. I honestly don’t really care about the outcome of the trial. I mean, I do hope to win because it will mean freedom for my people, but personally, I don’t care._

 _Q: Why not?_

 _K: Because I will die no matter what. If the Alliance wins, I will be executed as a slave who tried to be Sentient. If I win, I will be executed as a Kosei-asaka, for crimes I willingly admit to committing. I am dead no matter who wins._

 _Q: Oh my God._

 _K: What?_

 _Q: That’s horrible!_

 _K: No, not really. I’m ready to die. I have been ready to die for a long, long time. My body aches from the countless battles I have fought and my soul is weary beyond belief. I just wish..._

 _Q: Yes?_

 _K: I just wish Lance wouldn’t have to see me die, executed as the criminal that I am. That. That is the only thing I regret._

 _Q: You really love him, huh._

 _K: More than anything in the universe: more than freedom, more than air, more than flight, more than life itself._


	45. Epilogue

Date: January 1st, 10100 A.U  
Location: Third floor, West Wing  
Castle of Lions, Lecub,  
Arus, Diamond Quadrant.  
Time: 2130 STG

The stars were bright tonight. Even with eyes as old and rheumy as his, Lance could see them twinkling in the velvet black sky. He leaned against the cold railing, body heat melting the small dusting of snow that had accumulated during the day. It was nights like these that he almost wished he was young enough to fly again and be one with the stars.

“Pop? Pop, what are you doing out here, you’re going to get sick.” Strong hands took his and helped him back into the pleasantly warm room. Lance turned his head and smiled at his son. Asher had grown into a handsome man, but his eyes were Keith's, and for a fleeting second, Lance thought he stared into the gaze of the father and not the son.

“I’m not an invalid yet, Asher,” Lance grumbled good naturally. “I could still kick your tail in a sparring bout, if I felt so inclined.”

Asher smiled indulgently and helped his father to a chair. “I’m sure you could, Pop.

“Damn straight I could, and don’t you forget it, boy.” Lance sat down carefully, a long sigh escaping his lips. As much as he hated to admit it, he was old. His bones ached and there seemed to be a chill in his chest that he just couldn’t shake. The old wounds of war made him feel twice his age.

Asher sat beside Lance, idly scratching his beard. “Pop, why didn’t you ever remarry?”

Lance laughed and then coughed as he ran out of breath. “I never felt the urge to. Why do you ask, Ash?”

“It’s just. Dad has been dead a long time, now-”

“Sixty-three years today,” Lance interrupted.

“Right. And in all that time, I don’t remember you ever going on a date. You were a handsome man when you were younger, Pop.”

“I know, Ash. It’s just.” Lance paused, his old eyes clouded with thought. He absentmindedly turned the golden ring on his finger, the decorated band warm to the touch. “I loved your father, Asher, more than anything else. I was consumed -- I still am consumed by that love.”

“But weren’t you lonely?”

“Not really. I had you, after all, and Allura made sure I had enough work to keep me busy, especially at the beginning.” Lance frowned. “But why do you ask, Ash?”

Asher sighed. “Helen was in an accident about a week ago. Nothing serious, but it could have been, and I got to thinking. You know. About death and love and all that. About what I would do if Helen died.”

“You’d go on. I raised a fighter, didn’t I?” Lance smiled and patted Asher’s leg. “You’d have friends to help see you through your pain. You’d take care of your little ones. Speaking of which, when are you going to bring the rug rats over to visit, hmm?”

“Pop -- ” Asher began to remind his father that his children were no longer babies, but young adults with lives of their own. He thought better of it, though and changed his mind. “Soon. Soon, I promise.” Asher looked at his watch. “It’s getting late, Old Man. Time for you to go to bed.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me so you can go commiserate with Lotor and Allura about how old I’ve gotten.” Lance leaned on his son’s arm as he stood. He felt weak, suddenly. “Lucky for you, I’m actually tired. Go on, go on. I can make it to my bed on my own. I don’t need you to tuck me in.” He squeezed Asher’s hand. “It was good to see you, son.”

Asher hid his smile. “Good night, Pop.”

“Good night, Ash.” Lance climbed into the soft bed with a low grunt. He closed his eyes and raised his voice. “Oh, tell Pidge and Hunk that Red’s been acting up lately. And let Sven know that I’ll be awake for my turn at the watch.”

Asher paused at the door, worry creasing his handsome brow. “Pop. Pidge, Sven and Hunk have been dead for years.”

Lance opened his eyes and blinked. He looked small and frail in the great bed. “Oh. Right, right.” He laughed, softly, sadly. “Right.”

“Get some rest, Pop.” Ash turned off the light and closed the door.

Lance lay in the darkness for a while, remembering the olden days, and times that shone bright in the light of memory. He sighed and let his mind go blank. The anniversary of Keith’s death was always a hard day for him.

Sleep crept over him, and he welcomed it. His breath slowed and grew shallow as he wandered into the world of dreams, a world where he was young again and walked hand in hand with Keith, forever. The spaces between the beats of his heart grew longer, until only silence was left.

At nine o’clock, Lance died, smiling as he went.


End file.
